Baggage Claim
by malohipie
Summary: Jasper Hale misses his flight in search of Alice's lost baggage. He accidentally stumbles upon *Hermione Granger's trunk instead. Trouble. Pure trouble. (All rights belong to JK Rowling and Stephenie Meyer, both of which are not me!)
1. Chapter 1

Perfect. Precise. Absolutely no room for errors.

Dr. Carlisle Cullen made sure to charter a private plane from Forks to their first stop at an exclusive European airport. A jet would then leave for Italy at exactly 2am on Christmas Eve. A middle-of-the night flight on this precise date would ensure the least amount of human spectators. He had even purchased a majority of plane tickets to empty out the airport. Carlisles' plan was perfect. Precise.

It had no room for error.

How Alice Cullen managed to re-route her luggage was a mystery. She lost her stylish black mini-trunk, and even worse: she didn't _see_ that one _coming_. It was a treasured miniature trunk full of her favorite things, mainly accessories for all their clothes. Edward barely had time to register a thought when Jasper Hale, the eternal gentleman, stepped off the jet and darted toward the nearest airport entrance.

"I'll catch up. It'll be alright." Jasper reassured Alice from a far distance. He was gone before any of them could protest. Jasper shot a wave of relaxation behind him, just for good measure. It was obvious his Alice was taken aback by her sudden blindness at the future. Nerves, Jasper thought. They all needed to relax and remain focused. Anyway, he could easily catch up to that jet in no time. No big deal.

The mission was relatively simple. Retrieve trunk. Run to Italy. Face Volturi.

Step one: retrieve trunk was _exactly_ when Jasper got himself into a strange predicament. It started out well enough. In one smooth motion he entered the gates of the famed Aira International Airport, without being seen. In an equally short moment he surveyed the length of its glamorous halls. Every inch was ornately decorated with purchased Christmas spirit. But the desolate emptiness of the airport dimmed each light, wreath, and miniature Christmas tree. Jasper didn't have to search long before he spotted the unassuming black case with presumably Alice's things. The little trouble maker was somehow moved from baggage claim to a randomly unoccupied seat. Alice's trunk waited just for him, left to sit in the middle of an empty airport.

Jasper couldn't waste time wondering about the luggages' curious location. He quickly retrieved the case without hesitation. Unattended baggage was never a good thing, and it was sure to attract the attention of whoever employee was still around. He'd attend to it.. all the way to Italy. Jasper was halfway toward the exit, already moving toward a run when he deadpan stopped. His body went frigid at the curious vibrations emanating through Alice's trunk. What the hell did she bring and why didn't she tell him? He was more than sufficient to-

It moved. It's moving. Jasper stilled again, as the case defiantly struggled against his grasp.

His eyebrow arched as he glanced down at the little trunk. Jasper's ears heard what no one else could. A soft purring. He backtracked to precisely the location where _said_ _item_ was retrieved. Jasper ever so cautiously seated himself. There was a long silence, the trunk stilled. Jasper pried open the black cased mystery. The lock creaked angrily as he decided to investigate its contents. His golden eyes slightly widened as he peered into the trunk. He looked straight down, at a chimney's view of an elegant interior lodge. Bed, fireplace, library, and intelligent Cheshire cat included. All of it...in a suitcase. Jasper shut the trunk immediately, tensing his jaw.

Well..alright then. Cold ones and shape shifters existed. So why not a bag-house? Whoever this trunk belonged to definitely wasn't anyone Forks had ever hosted.

"Europe.." Jasper muttered to himself.

He couldn't steal the trunk nor allow it to be seen. So he sat and waited, roughly twenty feet away from the invisible culprit. Anyway, he fully intended to return the black mini trunk that he mistook for Alice's. The private jet had already left. The sooner the owner came forward, the better. Jasper surveyed the relatively empty airport. Nothing. No one of suspicion. Hours ticked on by.

Hermione Granger was a few terminals away, discretely biting her lip. She could see him, the beautiful muggle impersonator. She wasn't entirely sure, since he had golden eyes instead of crimson...but everything else pointed toward Vampire. Her anxious gaze wandered from her precious trunk to the lithe, tall figure. He leisurely sat as if he owned the bloody trunk, the airport, _and_ her! The completely still figure started to move and her breath hitched. He leaned back, unbuttoning his fitted navy sweater. She tried to look away but couldn't. He commanded the delicious stance of a predator.

She blushed as he looked her way, completely unaware. He belonged in a painting. Perfect wavy auburn hair framed an incredibly handsome face. His red tinted lips contrasted perfectly with his marble skin. Every other expression was sculpted, from his jawline to the bridge of his nose. She was drawn to it. All of it. Certainly none of this was written in any of her books. The gravitational pull was impossible to describe.

Hermione took a deep breath. Nevermind that. Wits.

She grimly assessed her situation. Her (curiously) empty flight for Australia would be boarding soon. And here she was, encased in a concealment charm, dreaming of snogging someone who must probably want to kill her. So much for traveling the muggle way. She gripped the mistaken bag. What was she to do with belt buckles and white glitter? Their trunks were identical, but clearly different. Hers contained everything important to her, sans Harry and Ron.

He just sat there, brilliant, but unmoving. Her chocolate brown eyes moved from her trunk to his face, and back. After much too much deliberation Hermione briskly stood up. She refused to wait another hour, even if the wait was deniably pleasant. With a bit of reckless courage she decisively walked toward him, wand at the ready. Her heart paced faster and eyes dilated wider with each brave step. After a few steps forward Hermione began to question whether she was still walking. That incessant gravitational pull drew her forward, faster than she intended.

The instant Hermione let down her invisibility charm, Jasper was aware of her presence. He didn't have to look around. Jasper knew the direction each drop of her blood danced off to. The young lady who approached him smelled like cinnamon, orchids, and books. How could he even smell these things? These were things that belonged to his past life. There was only (ever) one thing he could smell, and that 'one thing' was the bane of his existence. She drew herself forward and he silently doubted his ability to restrain himself.

"Erm..hello." A British voice emanated toward Jasper. Hermione opened her mouth to speak, closed it, and opened it again. But no words came out from either her, or the intoxicating gentleman. The marble statue stilled to perfection, as if he couldn't hear her first 'hello'. Hermione took one valiant breath and moved closer.

"Hello there?" the feminine voice purred toward his ear.

After a moment of complete silence Jasper willed himself to look up and face the mystery girl. The large mass of curls and doe eyes blinked at him. Her chocolate brown eyes hid a fierce intelligence. Jasper was surprised that her view wasn't obstructed by the frizzy ringlets. The half-second it took him to regard her was just enough to memorize every detail. Every curve. Every crevice. All of her crashed into his senses at once.

She tried to greet him again, her voice as soft as snow. He silently watched her rose pink lips that she bit in fear. That particular posture told him she carried much more weight than just luggage. It was confident, despite her terror.

Hermione moved forward as Jasper forced himself to think of something other than her blood. His eyes darted toward her clothing. She was dressed so simply, pale green jacket and jeans. But she was beautiful; whether he obliged in the thought or not. Jasper denied it, well he tried to. He could draw her a hundred years from today, with the single millisecond he stole to glance at her.

Hermione instantly blushed at his one-second gaze. She'd been sheepishly gawking at him for _hours_. Why would he possibly take an interest in knowing who _she_ was? Why would he spare more than one second to glance her way? Why in the name of Merlin did she care? Really. She moved forward, clearing her throat. Jasper steeled himself to respond, before she could close their distance.

"This must be yours." Jaspers velvet statement was woven in a subtle American 'twang. His voice came out like pure silk. Hermione swallowed down her fear.

There was no use in explaining herself.

"Yes. It er, belongs to me." Hermione tried her best to keep her voice even. She held out her arm but Jasper didn't move. Jasper didn't trust himself, and he didn't trust her. The Cullen's were the only ones he'd ever spoken that many words to. He looked forward again. Still as a rock. Hermione took a quick in breath and straightened her posture. Her outstretched hand remained equally frozen in the air.

As inertly charming as he was, and as much secret desire to stay she felt, Hermione hadn't any time for this. She garnered her wits against his overwhelming presence. _This_ was the only holiday the Ministry of Magic allowed her. She fully intended to use it to contact her _obliviated_ parents, for Christmas. Her plans didn't include fighting with a vampire over her personal choice of..housing.

The brave Gryffindor braced herself and focused on the image of her mum and dad. She touched her bag, along with the side of Jasper's hand. Electricity coursed through both of them. It reached places and areas it shouldn't have. Before she could wonder what happened he spoke again. Dangerously soft velvet.

"You know what I am. But you approach me so carelessly." his voice was barely audible this time. Again. More words.

At his sarcasm Hermione loudly huffed, looked away with a mock-smile, and huffed back at the gorgeous git.

"Have I any choice? You can very well see I've no intention of exposing you. I'd _prefer_ to be on my way. With my possessions." She bit, extending her arm defiantly. Jasper's golden eyes stole a look at her stubborn hand.

If there's one thing Jasper Hale admired, it was brutal honesty. Facts. The trunk _did_ belong to her. They were both wasting time over it, when all he wanted was to catch up to his coven. Jasper was..momentarily overcome by her, but that didn't matter. He quickly regained his sensibilities and regarded the young witch. She was in her own ways, intoxicating. But whoever she was, it was simply back to business. Good thing they'd hunted shortly before the flight. Otherwise his confidence would've fallen, along with the young lady.

"I didn't mean offense. I apologize for mistaking your things." Jasper's demeanor instantly changed. His expression softened. He moved to return her bag but he found himself fighting against the bloodlust. He found himself frozen once more, this time drowning in her unintended clumsiness. She swayed forward just the slightest bit. A millimeter was enough to mock his resolve.

"Well," Hermione started, completely taken aback at his sudden politeness. The charm he exuded began to overwhelm her again. It was all so sudden, and probably in response to her proximity. Hermione cursed Professor Slughorn for failing to distribute a proper lesson on Vampire repellant.

"Well, I apologize for being curt." She simply accepted. Hermione also accepted that she was still alive, wands aside.

They continued to eye each other. A vampire and a witch, at an airport. Jasper couldn't get a read on her. It was easy to tell that his ability to influence emotions had no effect on the young lady. She stared at him back, unable to move. Hermione couldn't figure out his intentions. Why hadn't he attacked her from the beginning? And why did he boast golden eyes? This vampire went against everything she knew to be true. That in itself was more unnerving than his allure. _She_ needed to leave. _He_ needed her to leave.

Jasper slightly tensed at the notion that he couldn't control her emotions. He figured he had to persuade her to run (if not walk away) without a lick of control. He had to do this in that human kinda' way. That's something he hasn't done since he was Turned. Cordiality and pleasantries and such, toward someone so delicious. Jasper was strategically extracting memories out of his past life. That's all he really knew how to do. Strategize. Good thing he was good at it.

Against his character Jasper broke the silence. Something _must_ be said. Something like a formality. Anything to move this along. With mild discomfort Jasper forced himself to lock eyes with her again. To any outsider he looked graceful, obliging.

"Jasper. I'm Jasper. Would it be too forward of me to ask your name?" Jasper's mild twang tickled Hermione's senses. _Is it too forward to ask what you are?_ That's what he truly meant.

"Hermione Jean Granger. I'm a witch. And..you are.. a...?" she felt a compulsion to state her name in a military-like fashion. At the same time, Hermione couldn't bring herself to finish her question. Of course he was a vampire. Silly of her to ask.

Really? Jasper reflexively flashed a small lopsided grin paired with a raised his eyebrow. He refused to acknowledge her question. Of course she already knew the answer to it. His familiar discomfort was gradually leaning toward amusement. The witches quirks were distracting enough, especially the way she tensed at her own intelligence. They lingered in a moment of silence. Jasper placed her belongings at the seat next to him, where she could pick it up and GO. It's as close as he'd allow himself be. Hermione knew better. She could've summoned the trunk with her wand, but Jasper _did_ seem like he practiced thorough effort toward self control. So she briskly grabbed her trunk, the muggle way. Out of respect. He nodded at her once.

"Well, alright Miss Granger. Have a 'safe flight." Jasper regained his gentlemanly manners as she stepped back. He ceremoniously stood from his seat, waiting for the young miss to walk away.

Jasper needed her to walk away... now. He sure as hell wasn't about to kill her. It didn't matter _what_ she was and how she possessed whatever magical rabbit hat _that was_. Miss Granger didn't fit into the plan. A plan that obviously failed from step 1 to step 2.

There was an awkward silence as two minds tactically whirled away at tornado speed. Two bodies at a perfectly calculated distance: the way ice and fire should be. Hermione immediately deduced that Jasper lived from a past century, where chivalry was the norm. Unfortunate, because in our century witches and women couldn't simply be dismissed whenever a dashing man stood up.

Hermione didn't walk away. She fixed her eyes at a nearby window. Just then Jasper had an odd feeling that even Edward wouldn't be able to catch her thoughts. He instinctively felt it. She was as tactical in every way that he was.

Jasper was right. Hermione had fought a seven-year war that he himself wouldn't be able to fathom. He wouldn't melt her resolve. He couldn't. Especially if that resolve involved protecting innocent muggles. Hermione stopped fidgeting, as if she'd reached a decision. Her gracefully determined mannerisms returned.

"You don't have to fly..or run, you know." She politely said to a large window at their right.

"Pardon?"

"I can portkey you to where you'd like to go. Instantaneous transportation. All it takes is a few spells on an object. In less than a second you'll arrive to wherever you need to be. It'll be faster and... safer." she continued speaking to the window. Hermione wouldn't meet his gaze.

"That's impossible." Jasper stated, slightly amused by her British lecturing on all things impossible. Rosalie's secret obsession with BBC TV paled in comparison to Hermione's enunciations and subtle expressions. Geeze. Jasper was doing it again. He moved away, deciding to focus on the same window. He stopped himself from what he knew Alice would hunt him down for.

"Impossible is it?" She stared back at his twang. He was a few feet taller than her. Hermione looked up at Jasper incredulously, her chocolate eyes questioned all his doubts. Anything was possible after the prior events at this particular airport. And they both knew it.

He looked down at her. She's serious. Was she actually offering him a one way ticket out? Jasper considered all the possible and improbable outcomes of her offer. The sun was creeping from the horizon, fast. Well that's the ticket. The show was decided for him.

"Instant travel, you say. Looks like I have some extra time then." Jasper spoke toward the same window she'd spoken to. Dawn was definitely about to break.

"I suppose we both do." Hermione's sighed at the sound of a loud ding. Australia flight 1503: delayed.

All the better. Hermione couldn't just leave the airport unprotected with a vampire running a loose, regardless of his dietary choices. Vigilance. Perspective. She'd deliver Jasper to wherever he wanted to be, and swallow her pride about achieving anything in the muggle way. Hermione would simply apparate to her parents. Apparating was something Ron Weasley insisted on from the beginning, and she stubbornly refused. Ronald thought she couldn't protect herself against "a flying contraption". And after all they've been through!

She fumed a little as she turned back to this Jasper Hale. Her breath hitched at his sudden closeness. Hermione defensively stuffed the black bag in between them and quickly closed her eyes. Hermione couldn't help what happened next: she turned bright red in response to Jasper's silent earthy chuckle.

She curled the trunk further toward her chest and began her plan.

"Would you fancy a cup of? Well, would you.. I suppose I.. would you like to come in? I mean with all the muggles I'd imagine it can't possibly-" Hermione rambled on.

"Yes." the gradual softening tone interrupted her rant. Jasper was curious, despite himself. Dawn was breaking and so he had very little options. If Miss Granger could turn Alice's box of belts into a five star hotel, she could probably blast him off into Italy in no time. She really didn't have much time. His control could only take so much.

"Right then." Hermione sat her bag down. With sudden precision and a swift flick of her wand they were instantly encased in an opaque bubble. Jasper resisted the urge to growl. Hermione's reflexes were faster and more agile than he estimated. Jasper's face was expressionless, but she knew better. It was her turn to cock a confident eyebrow. This girl's trouble. Jasper stopped himself from rolling his eyes. He couldn't allow himself to be familiar with her.

"I've cast a Disillusionment charm. They won't be able to see us, or see.. this." Hermione suddenly smiled, a little sheepishly at her trunk. The trunk that caused them so much trouble.

Jasper Hale lifted an amused eyebrow as he looked down at the entrance of the trunk. Jasper found himself opening the corner of a luggage case. He stopped an amused smile from forming, knowing how the young miss was so affected.

"Well then?" Her chocolate eyes waited for him to enter. He really didn't have to open doors for her. Much less trunks.

"Please, lead the way." Jasper's smooth voice insisted. They descended down a staircase to enter a wooden lodge that was decorated in gold and red. The fireplace warmly illuminated the antique furniture and red lounge sofa. The rug was plush, and the side of one wall displayed a massive display of books. Jasper's marble hand grazed through them. On the other side next to the quaint kitchenette stood a wonderfully authentic christmas tree. Despite himself, Jasper marveled at the moving pictures that decorated the hall.

"Please, have a seat. I'll be out soon with some er, refreshments." Hermione blushed as Jasper couldn't help ruffling the back of his auburn hair. They fell perfectly down his ears. They both heard it. Hermione's briefcase shut with a bright spark, housing two very tense and secretly amused..friends? No no. Perhaps it was too early for that.

Nevertheless. The briefcase shut. And locked.


	2. Blood is Blood

The luggage barricading them in was just the beginning of Jasper Hale's imagined headaches.

If only Jasper could have one. single. breath. to sigh with. Of all things. Miss Granger didn't bother to pack a friggin' clock in this _trunk of a blood-forsaken room_. She just left him here, to rot with her smelly cat. For eternity.

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi… on and on Jasper muttered, never breaking his stare from the direction that Miss Granger ran off to. He wasn't able to locate her heartbeat. Exactly how far away was she, and how big could this bag house really be?

Time. Location. Distance. All three factors escaped Jasper Hale's control. He had only one thing left: focus.

So his golden eyes steadily remained fixed on her chamber. He would no longer allow himself to be distracted by the moving pictures that eyed him, or the Christmas tree that hummed cheesy Christmas carols. Jasper tried his best to ignore the hundreds of books with extremely engaging titles. He could easily read their titles from his peripheral vision. Too easily. Time ticked on. His eyes fought a losing battle.

Voldemort: Battle of the Ages

Hogwarts, A (post-war) History

The Order of the Phoenix: Chronicles of the Golden Trio

"Just another moment!" Hermione's very distant voice suddenly interrupted his Mississippis. Jasper abruptly stopped his secretive pseudo-reading, as if he were caught in the act of being 'interested'.

'Only another moment', then. Jasper released his stare from Hermione's chamber and surveyed his surroundings. Miss Granger probably wouldn't appreciate opening her door to find him inches away from its entrance. After brief contemplation, Jasper edgily repositioned himself between a roaring fireplace to his right, and the unwelcoming kitty to his left. He decided to sit and wait for Hermione rather than stalk her room.

Something else decided to sit and watch as well.

The smelly cat-imposter was smart enough to paw a perfectly straight line at the plush white carpet. Kitty held an expression which communicated that Jasper was sitting on her favorite nook, _and_ _he'd better not cross any more lines_. The fire communicated.. well, fire. Little cat was lucky she smelled like a miniature Jacob Black. Jasper was lucky enough that the roaring fire was contained. Jasper Hale's luck was about to run out.

"All right there?" Hermione returned with a serving tray that held a pink teacup and a black pot. She also brought the alluring scent of books, orchids, and cinnamon back to him. His lips instinctively parted as she drew nearer. Hermione refused to meet his gaze, knowing what he _really_ wanted. She politely set the tea set on the coffee table and offered him a pink cup.

"You seriously don't think I would drink-" Jasper started but Hermione interrupted such a ridiculous accusation. Surely he didn't think she was that dim to serve him anything but-

"It's blood, sort of." Hermione stated, putting on her well-worn stubborn face to good use.

 _Sort of?! SORT of?_

As if she was Edward Cullen himself, Hermione immediately responded to Jasper's screaming thoughts.

"I'd have you know that I've cast an everlasting replenishing charm on a pint of dragon's blood."

 _Dragon? A Dragon's WHAT?_ Jasper telekinetically hit a nerve in the witch. Hermione fumbled through the rest of her rational argument.

"Not that I'd own anything like- Well, the blood is from a hideous writing quill that my friend Hagrid gifted me for my birthday." Hermione rambled. Hermione's embarrassment was met with continued silence. Regardless, Jasper must surely listen to reason.

"Please just try it. We haven't many options. And I'd like to be able to concentrate on the course of spells that'll create a port-key to your destination." Hermione reasoned, moving forward with her strongest point:

"I'd like to succeed in sending you off, without the threat of being well, you know." she mumbled to no one in particular, her eyes averting his. It wasn't Jasper's fault that he fed on blood. Still: she felt very, very, very uneasy around him. Despite her Gryffindor upbringing.

Jasper moved. Jasper's practiced stoic face broke into a wide eyed, mouthed-opened somehow _still_ stoic face.

So. A witch wanted him to drink an imaginary beast's blood. From a pink tea cup. The stunned expression gracefully transformed into the most endearing grin. The smile reached his seductive eyes, melting them into the warmest tones of honey.

Hermione stopped herself from biting her lip. Was she that obvious? She huffed at him, for good measure. He wasn't breathtaking. Not at all.

Jasper carefully considered Hermione's hospitality. What else was there to do but consign himself to Tea Time with a pretty witch? The irreverent part of him that resisted his entire situation broke apart, and he laughed. The wind chime laugh caused Hermione to genuinely breathe out her exasperation. She was annoyed, and he didn't need a special ability to see that.

"Please don't get me wrong. Our entire situation is humorous, but you've given me irrefutable evidence to drink this..mystery. Blood _is_ blood, after all." Jasper accepted the cup of the deepest crimson fluid he'd ever seen. It didn't really smell like anything.

Besides, dragon's blood was the only option he had. The next option was orchids, books, and cinnamon. Delicious cinnamon. Hermione instinctively tensed as Jasper leaned in. His gaze refused to release her.

"As you've said, I really wouldn't want to distract you." Jasper found himself winking as he raised his cup of tea to toast. Vampires didn't even blink. Why the hell was he winking?

Excellent. But still, Hermione forced herself to look away. Intoxicatingly gorgeous or not, she refused to witness anyone ingesting another creature's..life source.

The self-controlled witch discreetly turned away and directed her wand at the golden galleon she would transform into a port-key. She reassured herself. She was Order of Merlin Class 1 in transfiguration. This complex course of spells should take...oh, a few minutes. Hopefully. Time was really running out. Jasper's eyes faded into the slightest tones of black.

Before she could utter a single word, shards of glass flew toward her. A simultaneously loud thud caused Crookshanks to knock over the Christmas tree. Hermione flung toward the mess and nearly fainted herself.

"Merlin's beard I've killed him!" Hermione darted toward Jasper's limp body on the ground. For once Hermione couldn't think fast enough. She was alone, without knowledge or book or instruction to tell her what to do. Without a friend, witch, or wizard in the world present to help.

Hermione quickly moved to reposition Jasper. She couldn't very well check for breaths. How was she supposed to even check for a pulse? She gripped her wand, white at the knuckles. Her mind raced faster than milliseconds could tick.

"Evanesco! Encantatum! Resusviosa!" a bright sparks continually hit Jasper's chest. Normally the strength and combination of spell work would revive anyone from the most serious of injuries. They were spells that never failed her, even during the War with Voldemort.

Jasper continued to lay there, eyes closed and sprawled out on her carpet like the male version sleeping beauty. He was either dead or completely unconscious. Permanently unconscious if she didn't figure this out soon.

"Please please please" she continued to think, as spell after spell failed her. She wouldn't give up, never. A hundred and fifty five spells later Hermione fell to her knees, breathing exhaustedly and at the brink of crying. In her desperation she dropped her wand and resorted to pathetically performing muggle CPR. It had been hours. He was gone.

"Blood is blood." Jasper's velvet jab echoed in her burned mind.

"Blood _is_ blood." she repeated to herself, electricity reviving her own mind.

Hermione stilled and sat up, slightly leaning toward Jasper. If this didn't work, absolutely nothing would. And she'd hate herself forever. Hermione glanced at a glass shard next to Jasper's hand. She purposely gripped the broken glass with the determination of a battle-worn witch. It pierced through her skin.

With one hand, Hermione brushed aside Jasper's golden auburn hair. She leaned forward to touch his lips with her other hand. Hermione willed her heart to beat a little faster as she stared for any signs of life. Hermione hoped against hope that this was enough, if anything, to bring him back. He felt _so_ warm. This wasn't supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen!

"Please." Hermione pleaded against both the pain in her hand and the pain of being helpless to save a life. Life is life. Regardless of who lives it.

"Come back..." Hermione whispered, at the brink of giving up. She closed her eyes as the first hot tears rolled down her defiant cheeks.

"Alice.." the tiniest whisper responded.

"Jas-Jasper!" Hermione cried as she leaned away. She sat on the floor, sobbing from both succeeding and failing him. Jasper's brown eyes opened, only to find himself back in the trunk.

He was back with the girl who wasn't Alice. Not at all. The mass of curls and tears was the furthest thing from Alice Cullen. He reflexively assessed the terrain. A tornado seemed to have hit their surroundings. The Christmas tree lay flat on the ground. The moving pictures were all too shocked to move. Crookshanks crossed the pawed-up line, to pace at his feet. And the girl with the curls cried over him. She looked rather helpless in a puddle of blood, sweat, and tears.

"Hey, it's alright." Jasper looked at her from the floor.

"No it isn't, not at all! I'm so sorry, Jasper." Hermione berated herself. She was overwhelmed. It had been countless _hours_ since she'd caused this whole mess. How could she be so stupid? So reckless?

"Don't cry, Miss. It's really alright." Jasper's soothing voice filled the room. He raised himself up to her level and instantly noted the blood flowing from her right hand. Jasper tensed at the old taste of cinnamon-books in his mouth. She shouldn't have. But she did.

His eyes met her downcast lashes. This wasn't supposed to happen. The major in Jasper automatically took over. He'd fix this. He wouldn't fail. Slowly, Jasper gently held Hermione's small hand to examine it. Hermione was glad to feel the ice cold touch. It completely eased her suffering, and her pain. Jasper's golden brown eyes intently scanned the room. It was ransacked.

"How-Do you have any bandages? Or can you possibly conjure up a needle and a string? I was trained in crossfire first aid. Anything will do if you're too weak to use your spells. I'll find something, I promise." Jasper offered, meeting her tear stricken face.

For once he couldn't stand the sight of blood. For once, in over a hundred years.


	3. Well, you know

All it took was a whole lot of rubble and a bit of Dragon's blood. Jasper Hale and Hermione Granger were finally on the same page. Daresay, the same team. They quickly found an undestroyed spot to attend to her bleeding wounds. Without preamble the reckless young miss sat upright on her plush sofa. Jasper knelt on the ground in front of her, gently holding the wounded hand. So this was it. This precise feeling is what made Carlisle the valiant surgeon so willing to..hell she needs to stop moving!

'The same page' didn't last very long. Soon the witch and the vampire restarted their battle of wills. Stubborn versus stubborner'

Their thoughts shot at each other. At the exact same time:

 _Jasper you really ought to hurry._

 _Miss Granger you need to relax._

"Stay still." Jasper whispered, purposely instructing her in a soothing but _firm_ command. Of course she wouldn't listen. He was quickly learning that Hermione 'did her own thing, in her own..special ways. Forward, march. Hermione continued to move around as Jasper continued to mend her fidgeting hand.

The entire time Hermione alternated between closing her eyes, flinching, and looking to her left. She occasionally gazed down at his broad shoulders. It didn't help that Jasper Whitlock Hale gracefully knelt in front of her, as if he were proposing. Jasper felt her sly gaze and fought back his very shy grin. He silently placed stitch after stitch, ignoring her distracting quirks. My, my. Her intentions. Miss Hermione Granger was something else.

No, not at all! Hermione steeled herself. These were just silly thoughts to distract the pain. Really. Jasper had an Alice, whoever she was. And this Alice's real trunk lay by their side. It was _Alice's_ needle and thread that worked to fix the mess _she_ made. Jasper Hale had an Alice. His Alice was well equipped to fix problems. Unlike herself.

Jasper slowed his motions. He could've done it all quickly, but Jasper knew better. It was a grave disservice to Miss Hermione if the stitches weren't absolutely perfect. He didn't want her to scar. Jasper was all too familiar with scars. The shape, the size, the depth: every permanent wound told a different story. Jasper wouldn't allow this horrible gash on her small hand to taint her. He needed her to forget. _No scars, no stories._ He kept repeating. After a humanly long pace, Jasper cut the final stitch.

"Seems good. What do you think?" Jasper raised himself to closely sit by her side. His immense shame protected them both from some vampiric.. tendencies. Who knew an empath's strong-enough emotions could have a restraining effect? In his defense, Jasper hadn't felt anything for anyone besides you-know-who. This "empathic-empathetic" ability toward others was entirely new to him. Being able to curb his hunger because of strong emotions would be entirely new everyone.

"It's..perfect." Hermione cast a small smile and Jasper leaned back. His lopsided contentment was too close to her. She needed to stop fumbling around and distract herself. So Hermione did what she knew best: place things in order. With her newly mended hand she moved to grasp her wand. Then she screamed.

"Bellatrix!" Hermione cursed as she fell back at the searing pain. It looked well enough, but her hand burned like FiendFyre. This was worse than the cruxiatus curse. Jasper caught her before she could hit the ground. There was a long silence.

"I'm alright," she smoothed over; more determined than ever. Jasper understood. They both had an ingrained character to rely only on themselves. He stepped aside. With great resolve Hermione grabbed her wand; now prepared for the pain. She closed her eyes, grimacing but unmoving. With unrelenting willpower she waived the hand toward the room and against her pain.

"Encario." the spell only managed to fix the Christmas tree and nothing else. The tree achingly raised itself up and the decorations lazily returned to their positions. Nothing quick nor swift about it. Hermione was used to being quick and swift. But she couldn't even do this simple spell. She couldn't control her hand long enough to cast the proper wand movements! What would happen to them both?

Even before a frustrated tear could fall, a sudden cold hand rested on her shoulder. Jasper's grasp exuded pure comradery: an unspoken understanding. The last time Hermione felt this way, was with Harry's firm grasp. It was right before the beginning of war, and it was the only kind of touch that kept her alive. Brave.

Hermione looked straight forward at the tree. She nodded once. Jasper let go and in a blur he-himself arranged every single little detail in order, just for her. He did it.. for the courageous young miss, who didn't even know how brave she was.

"Thank you." She whispered.

"Your more than wel-" silk began to form but..

Hermione's loud stomach grumbling interrupted their solemn moment. They stared at each other. Trunk-mates. In a trunk war. In synchrony the room was instantly filled with an outburst of giggling and chuckling. The newly hung pictures on the wall trusted themselves to move, to smile again.

"To the kitchen?" she weakly offered.

In a few easy moments Hermione's blood was redirected from her hand straight to her cheeks. She sat on a counter with Crookshanks on her lap. They both tried valiantly to ignore the tall figure in a dashing black apron, brown slacks, and too-tight dress shirt. Perfectly tight, actually. Jasper was effortlessly concocting the most delicious stir fry. With one hand he gracefully tossed the delicious ingredients in the air, his golden brown eyes never leaving hers. The enchanted pictures didn't care, every mini-hermione on the wall shamelessly swooned over Jasper Hale: sexiest cook to ever cook.

"Would you like some onions, ma'm?" Jasper interrupted every picture's magical gawking. Jasper leaned toward Hermione with a lopsided grin, awaiting her command. The look he gave her said that he'd give it to her, whatever she wanted. The git was doing this all on purpose!

"Say. Could you possibly finish my meal a tad faster?" Hermione bit through her teeth. She hated being teased.

"Faster, huh. Faster it is then," Jasper enjoyed his double entendres. The mini-Hermione's on the wall blushed. One picture frame fell on the ground. Jasper chuckled as he easily finished displaying the appetizer, main course, and dessert in front of his audience.

Under normal circumstances, Hermione would be entirely offended at all this bravado. Boys. But she was completely famished. By the end of a quickly devoured meal, she sat back sighing like a purrfectly content little cat. It was Jasper's turn to feel uncomfortable. The minx gobbled up his cooking with such..desire.

Back to business.

"What's the plan?" He looked away.

Hermione sat up to his excellent question. She looked down at her injured hand, and began to ceremoniously review fact after fact.

"The wards to the luggage will break and my grandfather clock will reappear after the end of Christmas Day." She said as Jasper mildly tilted head.

"I um, I suppose I wanted an uninterrupted holiday for myself, in the event that my parents had..other plans." Hermione mumbled. In case mum and dad refused to befriend her. She had, after all, obliviated their memories during the war.

Jasper was a straight shooter. He obviously knew it was back to the original plan. Step 3: run to Italy. That wasn't the question he asked her.

"What's the _plan_?" His velvet tones emphasized and repeated himself.

"Oh. Well I suppose I'll find the nearest wizarding community and admit myself to a Healer's ward. Hopefully somewhere as reliable as St. Mungo's." Hermione spoke more to herself than to Jasper. She calmly looked up at him for the first time since they'd met. Jasper smoothly carried her from the stool to the sofa, taking precaution in case any other wounds would hurt the witch. Hermione gave him a small smile.

A sneaky little character named trust had lodged itself between them. Jasper smoothed over the situation and refocused on the details. They'd be unable to leave until the end of Christmas, whenever _that_ was. No clock.

Oh well. Jasper knew better than to fight a losing battle. They couldn't do a thing until the end of Christmas. So his golden brown eyes leisurely gazed over her books and enchanted pictures. He gave in to it all. Jasper enjoyed the surroundings.

"What would you like to do?" Jasper gently asked. Hermione sheepishly glanced at the Christmas tree with repaired, unopened presents.

"I-, of course you wouldn't want to celebrate being stuck here." Hermione laughed, silently wishing they really _could_ celebrate Christmas. That was too much to ask. Jasper patiently waited through all her rambling.

"Well I could show you around. And um, you could peruse my library! Minus the three horrid books about anything named Voldemort or war." She chuckled. Hermione had enough of _that_.

Jasper let go of his aching for Voldemort: War of the Ages. Instead he left his seat to sit on the plush rug. Hermione watched him, the beautiful creature gracefully sitting by her tree. He grazed his hand over the unopened presents, and endearingly looked up at her. The look was so genuine, nothing instinctively alluring about it.

"Fa la la la. La la la la?" Jasper smiled. It was easily the best Christmas present she'd ever received. Hermione returned a smile as radiant as his own, and she was the furthest thing from a cold one. Jasper moved to escort her toward the tree.

"Stop, Jasper!" Hermione's eyes turned into owls.

Something happened. They couldn't anticipate it. Hermione bit her lip at the already tense vampire. Stupid trunk. Idiotic ridiculous trunk! Hermione grumbled as the most stubborn little horror began to form above them. Jasper's graceful eyebrow nearly disappeared into his auburn golden hair. He straightened his posture as he moved toward her, not knowing where this was at all going. The plant in question followed them, hovering and dancing around.

"So." The southern gentleman ceremoniously cleared his throat. Now _he_ was the one looking away.

"Um." Hermione's small voice responded. The quickly growing Christmas tradition blithely ignored them both. It grew into an ornate combination of white and yellow flowers. They finally looked up. Looked away. And looked up again. Just to be sure. Just to be absolutely certain.

Jasper Hale bit the side of his own lip.

Mistle..well, you know.


	4. falalala

_Fa la la la la. La la de dah,_ the singing Christmas tree mocked them both. As if on cue, enchanted snowflakes began to fall and disappear before they hit the ground, in Yule Ball-like elegance. Hermione sighed, furrowed her eyebrows, and pinched the bridge of her nose. She didn't want to look at Jasper. He'd seen it all, after tonight. At least that's what they thought. _Ho ho ho,_ Jasper thought he heard the singing Christmas tree laugh.

There was nothing to laugh about. From the other side of the room Hermione nervously paced. This was wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. In one swift forte night Hermione Jean Granger kidnapped the most stunning vampire in all of Europe (and probably the Americas), stuffed him into her trunk, poisoned him with Dragon's blood, and was about to physically assault him. In the name of Father Christmas.

"It's not all that bad." Jasper's velvet voice seemed to smile at her horrified expression. He could almost taste the conversation in her head. Jasper moved away, never wanting to impede on a young lady's space. He endured more of her silently dramatic monologues. When Hermione became too distressed, Jasper decidedly addressed the situation.

"Please. Don't feel there's a need to subject yourself to..anything uncomfortable. I'm more than capable of walking around with the little shrub over my head." Jasper mocked the mistletoe. It grew twice it's size in clear offense, doubling in yellow and white flowers. The half foot plant hovered over him like a dark holiday shadow.

Poor Jasper. Now he was being stalked by a plant, Hermione sniffed. She straightened herself from the sofa and glared at the plant. Did it want to fight? Well fine! The fray happened so slowly, although it was all so fast. Something in Hermione Jean Granger snapped.

She glared at the plant as if it were a Basilisk, and Jasper was Ginny Weasley.

Well, Ron Weasley- to be proper. Jasper's eyes widened as he entertained the thought that she actually might... Well, there she goes. Hermione launched herself with predatory determination. Almost a run, but not quite. Jasper's lip flinched. He was suddenly the prey and he had no idea how to play the part.

"Jasper Hale I will not allow you to endure one more-" Hermione couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence so she crashed into him. The determined witch hung onto his shoulders and tiptoed with ferocity. Her warm lips defiantly met his own. The kiss unexpectedly melted her memories. Her brain stopped. It actually stopped.

Jasper didn't close his eyes. Why would he? It would be like denying a sunrise, or closing one's ears to the song of the summer's ocean. Her warm heartbeat pressed itself against his cold chest. Jasper instinctively held her waist. He couldn't allow her to sway backwards, or worse- fall. It was the softest and most chaste kiss he'd gotten in about a century.

"Mm" Hermione purred in her own horror. She pried herself off quickly, and retreated to her own little corner in the wall. Crookshanks watched them both, and she arched her own furry eyebrow. Her tail arrogantly stuck itself in the air. Enough was enough. The cat pranced into Hermione's bed chambers, leaving them some privacy.

The mistletoe shrunk, just an inch. It refused to be pacified. Hermione grew beet red. She almost fell, trying to run away from him _and_ the unforgiving plant. Jasper grabbed her uninjured hand to face him.

"As pleasant as that really was," Jasper reassured Hermione that she hadn't done anything he wasn't..or didn't.. Well she didn't do anything wrong. Hermione continued to evade him. Stubborn witch.

"Hermione Jean." Jasper directed her. Face to beautiful face. To hell, he may as well refer to her in a friendly fashion. What happened _was_ pretty friendly, wasn't it? Jasper refocused on his facts. There was a rather interesting reason the mistletoe wasn't leaving them alone.

"As pleasant as that was, I think you should read into the origins of the _golden_ mistletoe. It really is more...magic than muggle, as you folk say." Jasper couldn't help but smile. Hermione didn't register a thing. The whole "Hermione Jean" tone blasted every fact out of the water.

"Right. Mistletoe." Hermione responded. Jasper knew he'd have to take it slowly.

"Alright. Don't allow the the little flower to ruin the evening. How about we sit and open some presents? We can address the mistletoe a little... later." Jasper soothed.

He doubted it was a proper time to explain the relevance and language of flowers. It was historical mumbo-jumbo that even Alice got bored of. Yellow and White flowers did mean something serious. And those type of mistletoes only appeared once a century. Jasper Hale would know.

"Yes of course." Hermione darted toward her tree. Her forest green blanket of comfort. Together they sat quietly.

"That one?" Jasper encouraged the still-embarrassed witch. There were only two presents under her tree. The rest seemed to be Christmas cards.

Jasper handed her the first red and gold box. Hermione silently opened it but suddenly smiled. It was full of moving edibles and 'gnome flower' seeds. Hermione referred to them as 'chocolate frogs'. She laughed when Jasper elegantly flicked away a frog that hurled itself in his direction. These gifts were from a certain Neville Longbottom. He was probably a botanist or magical biologist.

The second present was from a Mr. George Weasley. Hermione opened the ornate gift wrapping to find an empty box. It echoed a very familiar and friendly voice.

"Oy'! Mione?!" the deep playful voice emerged from the empty box

"George? George!" Hermione squealed

"Happy Christmas my dove! I wanted to give you something wonderful." George started.

"So here I am! In my signature magnificent voice-form, of course." the Brit's playful voice laughed. Jasper could hear the voice winking.

"Happy Christmas, to you and the family." Hermione blustered herself in bliss.

"I'll tell everyone your message! Well, we miss you. Mum and Ron especially. I must say, Ickle Ronniekins did a Top Job helping me with your present. Unfortunately the connection goes to the tunnels in.." static emerged from the box. "-And he says to open his card first. I think our time up!"

"I do love my present! Thank you, George!" Hermione strained her voice into the modern day walkie talkie. It exploded into a white puff of raspberry-scented smoke. Great. I'll add raspberries to the list, Jasper thought.

Jasper stayed behind and leisurely crossed his arms. Neville. George. This..Ickle Ron. All men. She certainly had a lot of... suitors. Hermione ignored Jasper's beautiful brooding. She had saved the best for last. She carefully opened each treasured Christmas card. They were long parchments from Harry, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and "Sir" Draco L. Malfoy, head of Malfoy Manor.

The letters eased Hermione back into a happy, comfortable state of mind. It was just enough to brace herself for the next big surprise. She tucked a soft curl behind her ear and stared at Jasper's chin.

"Um, I suppose it's your turn, for your Christmas present." Hermione blushed. Jasper cocked his head. When did she have time to buy him a gift?

"It's nothing magical. Or material, really." Hermione straightened herself. Without adieu Hermione closed her chocolate brown eyes. She began to recite a childhood poeme, from an era bygone. From Jasper's very own... childhood.

"The day is done

The darkness falls from the wings of night

As a feather is wafted downward,

From an eagle in his flight."

Hermione's voice felt like rain. It continued onward, sparking memories of Jasper's old life. The poem lulled him into the sweetest of memories. He was more. He was more than what'd he'd become. She told him this certain truth without speaking a word of her own. Jasper was so much more.

Hermione recited the only verse she knew. But it was enough. The rest of the poem was lost in translation. It was all history ever recorded. It was all Hogwarts Muggle Studies could teach. So Hermiome gave it her all, in one single verse.

Hermione focused so intently on the poeme, and it's enunciations. She didn't even notice the cold gust of wind. She didn't feel Jasper's arms, nor his forehead on hers. She opened her eyes surprised to find him so close. He looked so peaceful that she didn't dare move. Jasper lingered over her face so softly, like a winter's breeze.

Hermione closed her eyes. Jasper Hale gently leaned in. He softly kissed her cheek, completely vulnerable to her whims. The mistletoe was gone. It glowed brightly and disappeared; fulfilling its mission.

Jasper did something he never thought he would. He moved to Hermione's ear to finish the poeme. Jasper held her closely, revealing the past's secrets. He finished the long lost poeme. It was all he could offer her, besides his loyalty.

"Come, read to me some poeme,

Some simple and heartfelt lay.

That shall soothe this restless feeling.

And banish the thoughts of day.

Through the corridors of time"

"Merry Christmas, Hermione." Jasper whispered into her ears. His velvet voice caressed her neck. Hermione calmly breathed in the words. Words were all anyone had, sometimes. She opened her eyes. No mistletoe. No snow. Jasper's eyes remained closed, as if savoring the moment. He relaxed his head into the sofa. Hermione found his hand on hers.

"I um, see what you mean. By the mistletoe's requirements." Hermione moved away to a proper distance.

Together they enjoyed the soothing type of quiet that was beyond words. Jasper Hale opened his newly golden eyes.

"Hermione Jean Granger, you couldn't be farthest from the truth." Jasper chuckled, drawing even Crookshanks toward his earthy voice.

tick, tock.

A small painting of a grandfather clock materialized and floated down from the fireplace to rest by Hermione's doors. Jasper heard it first. Hermione's luggage creaked open. She looked at the clock. The trunk unlocked itself.

Time's up.


	5. Bookworm

Beep. Beep. Beep beep beep beep beep!

Emmett.

Emmett

Emmett

Emmett

Emmett

Carlisle

Alice.

Before the third Tick met the fourth Tock, Jasper looked at his phone. The silver piece of crap was filled with as many voicemails as were Hermione's Christmas cards. Probably not as Merry, either. _Reception_..Jasper grumbled and turned back to Miss Hermione. She patiently waited for one of them, probably him, to leave now.

Hermione boasted that happy-type of smile on, beautiful. But it didn't reach her chocolate brown eyes that obviously said something else. Hermione looked at his phone apprehensively, already beginning to work out the details of Jasper's exit plan, and her own. Jasper looked at her intently, silently communicating that things would be just fine. After a calming moment he allowed himself to speak.

"I'm really sorry for being rude. Would you mind if I take this call?" Jasper apologetically offered to an understanding witch.

"Please. Take as much time as you need." Hermione's voice slightly hitched. She wasn't very good at hiding feelings. She was better at everything else, one handed. Jasper ceremoniously walked a distance away from the sofa, tree, and fireplace. Hermione moved to tidy up her Kitchenette.. with one hand.

Crookshanks stayed back. The cat wanted facts. Straight cold facts. Before the Crooks' could blink once Jasper listened to all five of Emmett's play-by-play voicemails, regarding their meeting with The Volturi.

"-Anyway it's done and over with. No war. I mean, maybe no war if you and your friend manage to even-" the last of Emmett's booming voice cut off ; right at the bottom of the ninth inning! Jasper Hale tried his best to keep the phone from crushing under his grip. Emmett Cullen would make a terrible broadcaster. That voicemail was crap.

 **Carlisle** : "Jasper. Alice just regained her foresight moments ago. I need you to convince the Witch to come back to Forks with you. She is slowly Turning. If we don't find a way to extract that venom, she'll be.. gone. I may be able to mend her wound. Bring her home. If all else fails, say 'Wizegamot 2000'. Be safe, son."

The final voicemail started on it's own, without Jasper's prompting.

 **Alice** : Get. home. Now. -click-

Crookshanks finished blinking but shrunk back. The cat darted for under the sofa. Jasper's face changed, every angle became sharper and the golden eyes completely stilled.

"Hermione? Could you please com'ere for a sec? I think we should talk." Jasper stood with a chair open, waiting for her.

Hermione entered their makeshift living room. She was happy. Comfortable. The only sadness on her mind was their separation. It was only momentary. Hermione was certain they'd keep in touch. If Jasper managed to restrain himself from owls. She had confidence in him, of course.

Jasper wasn't as light-headed. His eyes fixated on Hermione's small hands. The grave look abruptly stopped her musings. Hermione sat down and waited for him to relax, but he didn't.

"What's happened? Tell me, and we'll fix it." Hermione soothed. Trust me.

Jasper decided to sit next to her, instead of standing above or at the opposite side. At human's pacing he explained the existence of The Volturi, the consequences of breaking their exposure laws, and his cove-family's real reason for visiting them in Italy. Jasper assured her, 'twang after 'twang, that it was all a success.

Hermione's jaw tensed. Jasper Hale was building up to something more.

"Continue." was the only word she'd say.

So Jasper got to the hard part. He broke down a little, because this was the first time he had to say it. And speaking these words out loud made it _real_. An undeniable fact.

"Please?" Hermione encouraged and also braced herself. Jasper cast his eyes down, and his voice became almost inaudible.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. When you revived me, my venom dripped into your system. You will Turn. Not will, it's already begun. We're not sure, but the rate of Turning is probably slowed down by the fact that you're a witch. It's happening slowly, so we may have a chance to fix things." Jasper whispered.

He was met with silence. Hermione's chocolate brown eyes solidified, and the logical tactical strategist kicked in. She was in war mode. Before Jasper could continue Hermione had already assessed the situation.

"That excruciating pain wasn't from my wand. Your bloodlust for me stopped the moment I revived you. I eat everything like a newly Turned.."

"Newborn. That's what they call it." Jasper tensed. Hermione nodded once. She labeled each event as if it were a calculated symptom to her new condition. Events. Factors.

Christmas on the other hand, was an irrelevant factor. It disappeared with the enchanted fallen snowflakes. Something that significant to their..relationship, was so easily set aside. If only magical flowers could wilt. Irrelevant. :(

"Ok. I must return"- the witch began

"No, Hermione. I need to get you to Forks as soon as possible. My father, Dr. Carlisle, is the only chance we have at treating your wound. You have to recognize this goes beyond the Healers in your Wizarding world. And there's not much time. You can't expose yourself." Jasper spoke swiftly.

His detailed briefing hit a wall. He was talking to a brick wall. A wall that fixed itself at the other wall.

Jasper had to do..He had to say something. She is slowly Turning.

"Wizegamot. 2000." JENGA. The buzz word that tipped Hermione's Berlin wall.

"Bloody hell." Hermione's forehead instantly dropped to the table. She remembered the months after the war. The Wizegamot Trial of 2000 stripped (former-prat) Draco Malfoy of his wand _and_ magical abilities. He was forced to live a year as a muggle. Worse, he was forever magically bound from seeing his family. The Wizarding Jurisdiction charged his father Lucious to be the center of Draco's demise toward becoming a Death Eater. They'd never see each other again.

A verdict of such gravity had only been decided if a teenage witch or wizard instantly endangered thousands of lives.

 _This_ witch knowingly befriended a vampire, broke the Volturi's code of secrecy, and is now in the midst of Turning. Hermione was laying the foundations for a massacre. Hermione Jean Granger pushed her Ministry of Magic to the brink of another war! A war with _The Volturi._

Her actions were more than sufficient for the Wizegamot to vanish her to Azkaban completely, or worse. They could permanently strip her of magic and _obliviate_ her. She'd forget her entire world, and the only family left who still knew her. She'd lose them: Ron, Harry. Jasper. Everyone." Hermione began to choke at the implications of her actions. Vigilance. Hermione automatically stopped herself sooner than she'd started.

Impending doom was her forte.

Hermione stilled, composed herself, and stood up as if nothing happened. Jasper was momentarily taken aback at the sudden transformation. Hermione wasn't a damsel in distress (though he enjoyed it, and though she'd only show it to her friends). She was the farthest thing from helpless. Jasper deduced that Hermione Granger must be some kind of General in the Wizarding World, with the way moved. Jasper's shoulders mirrored hers, but her natural stance surpassed his, by an inch.

The witch dropped three books on the table and commanded his attention. Without moving, she bore into Jasper's dimming eyes and listed off orders.

"1. Familiarize yourself with these books.

2\. Choose: Potter or Weasley

3\. You are to locate a forest and pitch a tent. You will hunt. I shall wait and explain our predicament, until your return.

4\. With this wizard's assistance, we shall cross this blasted ocean and arrive in Forks before another dawn breaks." Hermione finished.

" _That's an order."_ was the sentence Hermione didn't need to speak. They both knew that tone of voice, and he definitely recognized it. Jasper stood up as she left. But before completely disappearing into her Chambers, Hermione turned back. Jasper reflexively rose from his seat again.

"Please, trust me. The way I trust you." she softened, and disappeared. Hermione really did trust Jasper. Hermione refused to read those books, they felt like exposed diaries to things she'd rather forget. She was forced to accept the books from Minister of Magic. Along with her honorary Chief title of The Order, and countless other honors and galleons and things. Hermione basically allowed Jasper into her mind, into the deepest recesses of both her joys and pains, with those books. But it was the fastest and most strategic way to brief him.

Jasper sat on the dining table, surveying the readings.

The first book displayed a magnificent castle, with wizarding folk flying around, and thousands of students smiling up at him. The second book was black. The third book displayed a small army that regarded him with suspicion. The only one he recognized from the moving picture was Hermione. She stood behind a protective redhead and a kid with a scar.

To any outsider it would seem like Jasper was merely picking up a book and fastly flipping all it's pages. As if he was merely flipping a deck of cards, looking for a simple page, maybe. To Jasper, he'd read and re-read every book a hundred times, before Hermione would return. Before she could even close her door.

 **Hogwarts a (Post war) history**

The after-math of the war resulted...

 _Llegilmens: mind invasion_

 _Imperius: mind control_

 _Cruxiatus: complete, utter pain, which subjects one to insanity if sustained_

 _FiendFyre: Fire that burns fire_

 _Defense Against the Dark Arts_

 _List went on and on_

This book listed and described every magical enchantment of their entire world. Jasper sat back and thought.

All Hermione has to do is wave her baton a few times and she could aquire Aro's, Jane's, Edward's, Alice's...every single vampiric ability. _Purposely_. And with a single movement: FIRE! This Hogwarts School trained them to do things he could never fathom. On a barbeque stick. And those were just spells! The potions to brew imposters, sleeping death, and all that. It made Jasper think twice before accepting a drink from anyone other than his Hermione. Well, not _his_ Hermione. Nevermind.

Jasper moved on to the next book. He instantly regretted ever being interested in these black pages.

 **Voldemort: Battle of the Ages**

It chronicled the life of Tom Riddle. The early murder (one of countless) of his parents. His rise to fame.

 _Pure evil._

Aro, Caius, and Marcus fed on blood. They did horrible things to their own kind, to _protect_ their own kind. They had reason, even if it bordered insane. But Voldemort wanted nothing but to glorify himself. It was a pure-blood/half-blood pipe-dream that had cost everyone their lives. He split his soul into seven pieces, just for the 'prize' of _immortality_. Voldemort killed Harry's parents and took away Hermione's parents even as they _lived. He_ drove Neville parent's to insanity, turned Draco into a gang-lord, murdered George's closest brother, and the list went on of all those special Christmas cards that carried such haunted pasts.

Jasper forced himself to read the rest, out of honor and reverence for the fallen. Out of undying comradery to those he'd never meet. Jasper didn't felt this much pain since...Maria. And even then, it wasn't as searing nor as everlasting. Jasper had Alice. What did the Wizarding World have?

 **The Order of the Phoenix: Chronicles of the Golden Trio**

This book gave a brief history on The Order's establishment, the list of members, and those of the fallen. The length of the book then focused on the life and experiences of the Magical Three, whom brought The Dark Lord to his demise.

Harry Potter: The boy who lived, who died, and lived again

Hermione Granger: Brightest Witch of her Age

Ron Weasley: Descendant of Gryffindor, really.

Jasper would never admit it, but he turned to pg 364: Hermione. After a few more re-reads, he finished the last of the books she'd given him. 17. Even then. They were children! Jasper silently repeated the facts to himself:

By the human age of eleven Hermione, Ron, and Harry vanquished trolls, giants, and three headed beasts. Within the next year Ron's sister Ginny was possessed by a diary (of all things) that commanded a Basilisk to kill students.

By their third year, an under-aged Tournament caused the demise of a treasured friend. Then they were recruited by The Order, and had to form an Army of Teenagers to protect themselves. Dementors. Death Eaters. Harry's shape shifter godfather. A rat?

By the end of it all, _Hermione Jean Granger_ was ONE of just THREE that hunted down the seven souls that built one _ass of a man_ that did this to them all. Not to mention brooms, quidditch, giant spiders, and a cereal bowl that showed you memories. Not to mention the countless lost lives.

"My god. Is this _Fiction_?" Jasper pinched the bridge of his nose, even if he didn't need to.

Hermione returned, carrying a well worn bag of tents. She changed into darker jeans, a navy sweater, and black cloak that boasted the crest of a lion.

Jasper immediately stood at complete attention. His posture was mesmerizing. His golden eyes aimed straight forward, away from Hermione, out of pure respect. It's what you do. She paused, sighed, and blushed. Hermione shyly placed the tent on the table, and refused to be overcome by Jasper Hale's new attitude.

"I trust you've familiarized yourself?" Hermione blushed a little more at Jasper's newly acquired formalities. Soldier-mode _did_ have a dizzying effect for all witches, and perhaps even muggles .

"Yes, Ma'm." Jasper's silken tones firmly reached her waist.

"At ease." Hermione bit back a smile, right before she stopped herself from buckling. Jasper looked at her as if this was the first time he'd met her. It was the first time he could ever really see her. Time stopped. He moved closer and looked down at the mass of curls, each wave told a different story. Jasper Hale stared at Hermione with solid admiration, complete fondness, and just a small hint of desire.

They'd both done a top job of ignoring that _last_ bit. Hermione cleared her throat. Jasper silently retreated. He grabbed the bag of tents, pitched it over his shoulder, and awaited for Miss Granger to either walk in front or behind. The chocolate brown eyes blinked.

"Honestly, Jasper. You need to relax." she grinned and moved past him. Jasper raised an eyebrow.

"Well? Off we go, soldier!" her caramel tones bounced off his shoulder. Jasper watched her gracefully climb up the stair cases of her trunk: beaded purse and scary wand-thing in toe. The curves of Hermione's movements betrayed complete relaxation and alertness. Was she _always_ this way toward impending doom? That's kind of..

If Vampires could blush.

"Jasper! Hit the GROUND!"


	6. Pitching Tents

" _Beep. Beep beep_

 _Wizegamot 2000_

 _Jasper hit the GROUND!_ "

The fog around her brain only _seemed_ like it was lifting. Hermione was certain of one thing, she had a boyfriend. Hermione Granger had a real boyfriend! And they were..well, you know! Camping. Romantically, in the woods. Under the stars. He held her so closely, and she burned from his cold embrace.

"Mm" Hermione purred as Jasper obliged her. He knew what she wanted, even before she did. Hermione coaxed him onward with purrs and sighs until Jasper gave in. He deepened their kiss. " _More."_ Jasper could hear her whisper, the tiniest of commands.

Hermione bucked up to feel his cold bare chest. Jasper's abs soothed the searing burns on her stomach. Hermione's small hand ruffled Jasper's smooth auburn hair. She wanted to dip into his neck, but the masked figure deepened the kiss every time, willing her to forget anything but his feather soft lips. The _nectar_ that flowed between them was _intoxicating_. She swallowed every little bit of the dream.

This _must_ be a dream. No one could possibly snog with such talent. She was whispering to herself between kisses. Jasper couldn't help it. He smiled mid-kiss. Funny girl. He listened for her breaths to stabilize, waiting for the very moment to pull back. To take back what he couldn't take back.

Hermione's breath was right underneath him, moving. Hermione's scorching hot temperature had started to cool back to normal. She was going to be ok. Jasper slowly rested his forehead to her chin, remorseful. It's what he had to do..just to keep her alive. Jasper was more horrified because he enjoyed this unnatural affection, without any of her consent. He was certainly passionate, but he wasn't inclined to do these types of things...to an unconscious woman! Never in all his many many years.

Jasper moved away as soon as he was able, gently wrapping Hermione in a blanket and quickly buttoning up his shirt. The skin to skin contact was a life-saving necessity, he repeated to himself. _And so was this,_ Jasper pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the crimson droplets from his mouth. The same red droplets tainted Hermione's stirring lips.

"Ron..?" Hermione stirred.

She opened her light golden brown eyes as the room spun around. Hermione regained her wits at Vampiric speed. She bolted upright and darted her eyes around the familiar tent. How many horcruxes were left? The place was a mess! Did the snatchers infiltrate their wards?

Hermione reflexively grabbed her wand and dropped it at the sight of her hand. Her hand was completely blackened, as if twenty dark marks decided to rest on each finger. Permanent scars. She gasped around, searching for any sign of comfort.

"Ron.. Where _are_ you?" Hermione cried in the darkness. Hermione re-lived the events that happened over a year ago in this very same tent. Ron abandoned her and Harry, after a squabble, in this exact..same..tent. Hermione slumped down and covered her face with one scorched hand. A soothing gust of wind eased Hermione's tears. Golden eyes watched her from the shadows.

"Hey. It's just me." Jasper emerged, his handsome face expressed both concern and remorse.

"Are you alright, Miss Hermione?" Hermione blinked a few times and fell back on her bed in a huff, angrily looking at the ceiling.

"Jasper just drop the bollocks and call me by my first name." Hermione bit, annoyed that she had no idea what was going on. There better not be a time-turner involved in any of this, she gritted her teeth. Her beaded bag lay on the floor, ransacked. The tent was a mess. And she couldn't begin to fathom _where_ this tent decided to pitch _itself_.

Jasper patiently sat by her side and gently touched her shoulder. They locked eyes, she instantly calmed down. After a long, grounding silence, Hermione opened her mouth to ask.

"You still have magic in you, that's for sure." Jasper sat at the foot of her bed.

"I don't know what you saw at the exit of your trunk, but you told me to hit the ground and jumped on me. Then I couldn't see a thing until we fell...or _apparated_ as you'd say, on this perfectly self-sufficient tent." Jasper continued. He'd make this as painless as possible for Hermione. The girl loved answers.

"The apparating did quite a trick on your body. I found you on the floor barely breathing and burning like fire. I did the best I could to help out. Even with all those books of potions, your world needs to have a medical school. I couldn't do a thing. Not even with your vial of dittany."

They both looked at her charred hand. Hermione stayed silent, instead choosing to listen to the velvet 'twangs that strung her pain.

Jasper held her blackened hand to his. She couldn't feel it.

"This part's my fault. Dittany. I read about it in your Chronicle biography and retrieved it from your bag. I must've thought I'd become a Healer. It burned your hand." Jasper grimaced.

"Jasper it's not your fault. Dittany is the strongest healing potion available to the Wizarding world... _specifically_ for wizards and witches. And I- I don't know what I am, anymore." she looked down. Jasper lifted Hermione's chin up with his cooled finger.

"Hermione. Remember me? The 'Cold one that got drunk on Dragon's _blood_?" Jasper flashed a soothing smile. He looked up at the ceiling she fixed her eyes on.

"So what? So what if there are potions and lotions that don't apply to other folks. We're all on the same planet. Tryin' to do the same things. Survive and all that..jazz. Dragon's blood. Dittany. It's real simple. You just gotta find what 'you like." Jasper offered.

"And love." Hermione whispered.

"'Yeah." Jasper 'twanged.

Hermione suddenly giggled. She rolled over and told Jasper a story.

"A few years ago I was in this exact same tent with a bespectacled romantic, like yourself. We were in the middle of a war and had lost... our only ally. He left. It was horribly sad. Of all things, _right then_ my best mate decides to dance. And neither of us knew how to dance!" Hermione's laughter became louder. She was laughing out everything she kept locked in. All that...baggage.

Without preamble Hermione walked over and played an old record. The song her and Harry had 'toddler-danced' to: Nick Cave's O Children

Hermione didn't know it, but she was the most fascinating whenever she let go of her insecurities. Jasper sat on the ground and watched her twirl, laugh, and re-create Harry's awkward dance moves. And her own, of course. The spark of her eyes shone so brightly, her curls danced in her own wind.

She whirled and twirled, and fell right into Jasper's arms, blinking. He looked at her intently.

"This _will_ be the final time I call you Miss" Jasper whispered. His lopsided grin fell on her rosy cheeks as he moved them into a dancing position. Jasper Hale didn't take the lead. Jasper didn't whirl and twirl Hermione around like some ghastly 'Beauty and The Beast' ensemble. All though he could have gracefully done so. No. Hermione Granger deserved more than that.

"Close your eyes, and trust me." Jasper whispered.

"Of all people I trust" Hermione began a sly smile with closed eyes, right before his strong arms pulled her in. It was the closest they'd ever been. She was blinded by it.

"Alright then, _young Miss_. Ready?" Jasper looked down at her peaceful lashes. They would go through this, whatever it was, together.

"One two three"

"One two three"

"Oh I'm so Sor-"

"Your feet can't hurt me Hermione"

"One two three" they chanted in unison.

"One.."

Jasper and Hermione allowed their waltz to form slowly; neither one leading the other. Pretty soon the ones, twos, and threes disappeared and they began to flow on, with the music. Hermione opened her eyes.

"Well, look at you" Jasper smiled, amused eyebrow raised in admiration. They were twirling and gracefully whirling away.

"Look at _us_ , Jasper" her own lips curled in wryness

They danced in sweet silence, long after the sad song had ended.

"Hey Jasper?"

"Hey Hermione."

"Thank you. For saving me today. For um, well. You know...that I must know. What you um, yes." Hermione's famed blushing rants. She knew very well how she survived with newly golden eyes. She knew precisely what Jasper did to lower her temperature. Jasper gave her a kiss that was bloody..bloody. And um, more. By the looks of his sneaky grin, Jasper enjoyed it.

The earthiest chuckle emitted from Jasper Hale's chest. The little minx knew what he did all along. And there Jasper thought he could sneak a few kisses and life saving affection her way. The brightest Witch of her Age, indeed.

The fireplace crackled a light shade of green, solemnly reminding Jasper of their mission. They both pulled away and watched it. Hermione didn't have use of her wand. She needed someone that did. Someone they could trust with the most sensitive information: her Turning. Someone who could help, without turning her over to The Daily Prophet for a few hundred galleons. "Brightest witch of her Age: Newborn of the Year" Hermione cringed at all the possible tabloids.

"Have you decided?" Hermione asked. There was enough floo powder in the fireplace to transport only one wizard toward their tent. Jasper was to decide which wizard would magically assist them accross an ocean..to get to Forks. Besides, Hermione couldn't bring herself to choose between Ron and Harry. She'd choose both, if they would've been able to fit in the fireplace, with just an inch of floo. In time..to save her.

Ron or Harry?

Harry or Ron?

Jasper stilled. This was nothing like choosing a record, or a song. He silently reviewed the orders Hermione'd given him.

1\. Read books: check.

2\. Pitch tent: check. (Er, double check)

3\. Choose between Hermione's best friends to help us out...

 _Places: one, two, there, fire!_ The distant sounds of calvary duels echoed in Jasper's mind. He'd reached a decision. A decision made on facts.

* * *

 **JASPER HALE INCOMING TEXT** :

Can you please ask our fans to help a soldier out?

I'm not too sure of that Ron fellow, he's always givin me the evil eye in Miss Granger's moving pictures.

That Harry kid is a little too smooth.

* * *

Text Jasper Back, in our comments section!


	7. Different strokes different folks

Harry or Ron?

Ron or Harry?

Jasper Hale carefully considered all the history books written about Harry Potter, the boy who lived. Potter was the most impressive soldier Jasper had ever read into. A brave wizard who obviously loved Hermione to the deaths. But Jasper also read about (and experienced) Hermione Granger. He read _all_ about this Mr. Ronald Weasley, too. Ickle Ronniekins. Jasper read between the lines.

"Ron."

"Really?" her owlish eyes questioned.

"Really."

After a few rough and tumbles, the resigned witch and stubborn vampire glared at the tent's fireplace. It's welcoming green flames invited them in. No thanks, Jasper shot. Hermione gripped onto the last of the Floo powder, Jasper by her side. She was so certain he'd choose Harry to help them. Of all wizards it just had to be _Ronald_. Hermione huffed, slightly pink in the face.

"I think it's best if you hunt again. And I can explain things.. to Ron." Hermione mumbled, betraying both excitement and nerves. She owed the red-haired wizard a lot of explanations. But nevermind, that personal part of her life can wait. Priorities. Jasper moved to speak, but decided against it. He shifted toward the tent's exit.

"I'll be back, then." Jasper left for another hunt. As much as he enjoyed sharing his meal with Hermione, he never shared a meal with _anyone_ before. Hermione sleepily drank most of what he brought back. Jasper's throat burned for more of the forest's creatures.

Hermione cast the Floo powder on the fireplace and muttered her request. The fireplace nearly exploded with bright green flames. She waited until the burst of light blasted through the tent, giving way to a shadow with a wand. Hermione let go of her reservations and simply flung herself toward the emerging shadow. Angst and drama aside, he was back.

"Ron! Ron?" she landed straight into the arms of a dark haired, green eyed wizard with a loveable scar. They blinked at each other, unmoving. Harry found himself lifting Hermione in a frozen mid-air hug. They blinked again.

"Oh _Harry_! Harry! But.. Jasper chose- he chose to floo Ron!" Hermione embraced her best friend.

"I really _am_ the Chosen One. Daily Prophet." Harry grinned as he set her down. Hermione looked up and paused before smacking him with her good hand.

"Ah. Never seems to work.." he smiled at the familiar tent. Hermione bit back her amusement. She tried to look serious as she waited for an explanation. Harry Potter knew her expressions all too well.

"Right then..." Harry prepared to respond to Hermione's wordless jabbing.

"You Floo'd that 'you and _Jasper_ ' needed Ron's assistance, but I beat him to it before he could get the message. C'mon 'Mione. Do you honestly think Ron would take it well if some _Jasper_ _bloke_ summoned him from _your_ tent?" Harry dished.

In reality, Harry jumped at the opportunity to check in on Hermione. What was so serious that Hermione came out of hiding? What happened for Hermione to stop avoiding them all? He regretted being brass, but he was worried about her. Hermione avidly avoided everyone after the war. She made excuses like 'going on holidays' and working too much as an Auror. All the things a best friend would say, if they were running away.

"Harry James Potter this is _very_ serious. Legilimens, please." Hermione sucked him into her mind before Harry could cast the Legilimens spell. Together they watched every vivid memory that occurred since Hermione met Jasper at the Airport. Harry emerged from the rather uncomfortable.. Movie scenes.

"I was right about arriving first. Ron would've tried to Fiendfyre your...friend." Harry muttered, sobering up as he looked at Hermione's scarred hand. This was serious. Hermione was slowly.. Turning. She was about to live a life struggling against drinking blood.

Harry cleared his throat.

"Well, where is he?" his green eyes scanned both the temperature and the Tent itself. They didn't have to wait long. Jasper came back, a little early. He stepped forward as the wizard reflexively assessed him. Jasper slightly bowed.

"I'd like to 'say it's an honor to meet you, sir. But from what I gather you probably won't appreciate that. Even if I did mean it. And I would." Jasper directly-indirectly saluted Mr. Potter. His golden eyes also saluted the lightning bolt scar.

Scars really did tell stories.

Harry ruffled his dark hair in mild embarrassment. He tried to bow in return but he simply looked awkward.

"I would have properly introduced myself if it weren't for 'Miones paranoia. I'm Harry. Just Harry." He offered a reliable handshake at the marble hand. Harry couldn't question Hermione's judgement, not after all they'd been through. He trusted her. Completely.

Yet things had slightly changed since their days of battling Voldemort. Wizards... grew up. They couldn't always rely on Hermione for all the answers. And she needed to learn that she didn't have to carry everything by herself.

"We have to travel to the States without-" but before Hermione could start planning, Harry gently took over.

"Apparitions are out of the question. We can't risk you being injured again. I don't think I could fit you both on my broom. And Mr. Hale's experience with dragons is well.. we all know that bit." Harry reviewed Hermione's memories.

"Harry-" Hermione began a slew of objections.

"For Merlins sake, 'Mione you asked for my help. That should mean something" Harry's voice firmed the slightest bit. Hermione paused. She opened her mouth only to close it again.

Before she could respond, Jasper saw him disappear in slow motion. Harry apparated away with a loud crack.

In an instant, an even louder crack drew them outside. Jasper didn't care what was out there, Hermione Jean wasn't leavin' that tent before he could. Jasper darted out of the tent and immediately crouched down. His golden eyes narrowed at the sight that waited for them. He stared straight into the black eyes of a giant... horse-eagle. Next to uh, Harry Potter.

"Really, Harry? Your mode of transportation is _Buckbeak_!?" Hermione's voice nearly exploded. How brilliant of Harry to pit a vampire against a creature with such a nasty temper. Jasper tensed even more. At the moment she seemed a little scarier than the bird.

The arrogant Hippogriff dispelled all of Hermione's doubts. History was about to be made.

Buckbeak blinked at Jasper and tilted its head to the left. Jasper's head automatically tilted to the right. Jasper slowly straightened his posture. The arrogant creature silently stepped forward, and _solemnly_ bowed to Jasper. Hermione's jaw dropped in unison with Harry's. In the entire history of Magical Beasts, there was never a single Hippogriff to bow in submission. They were extremely prideful creatures. Dangerously prideful.

Jasper suddenly chuckled and stepped forward. Buckbeak reminded him of the wild horses he'd taken care of before he was Turned . Maybe this 'buckbeak recognized that, or somethin' else in him. Without a word Jasper mounted the horse-bird with ease. Jasper commanded the agile posture of a confederate Major on a horse. He reflexively held Buckbeak's reigns as he surveyed the windy terrain. Jasper's golden hair partially concealed his sculpted face, everything was hidden. Everything but the smallest lopsided grin. Just like ridin' a bike.

Jasper looked down at Hermione. He gently leaned forward to extend his hand toward hers. In one swift movement Jasper eased the young lady to sit in front of him, while he firmly grasped Buckbeak's reigns.

"Should we go for a ride?" Jasper whispered, velvet tickling her ears. Hermione bit her lip, cycling between different shades of red. Harry coughed.

"Really 'Mione. And you considered Ron as a candidate for all _this_?" Harry kicked off the ground on his broom, choosing to fly a little faster than usual.

Harry Potter, the eternal third wheel.


	8. Mop replaces Waffles

**Forks, WA.**

Alice Cullen didn't bother to change her clothes anymore. Not since they had returned from Italy. The pixie girl resorted to one thing: perching on their rooftop, as if location could actually heighten her already heightened senses. Alice was desperate. She didn't care to hunt. She didn't care about her clothes. All Alice cared about was waiting.

It wasn't until days ago that she regained her ability to see the future. Losing that special part of her terrified Alice. If she could lose that ability, she might even lose.. the _best_ part of her. So she waited for Jasper. He had to come back. The rest of the Cullens, minus Rosalie, waited in their spacious living room. It was a living room with floor to ceiling windows. A luxurious room where no one really lived in. They waited for Alice, more than Jasper. Emmett played with Renesme on the floor, trying to decrease the tension.

"Edward, go up there. You're the only one she depends on, besides Jasper." Esme pleaded.

"Yeah, you should talk to her." Bella coaxed him. Edward really didn't want to intervene. He thought Alice was smarter than this. But it had to be done. So he'd do it. Edward scaled the walls to try and convince her to come down. The conversation went very well.

"Hey."

"Hey."

Edward knew she wouldn't come down. So he found a place to perch. Edward knew they would be on the roof for at least a week. He may as well enjoy the view. He patiently accommodated Alice, waiting for the right opportunity to make his point. For the next month they took turns playing the role of satellite.

"See anything?" Edward would ask.

"No. Do you hear any thoughts?" Alice would answer.

On and on it went.

"Anything?" "Anything?"

"Anything?" Alice continued to ask every half hour of every single day (and night).

"Alice. I hear nothing. You would probably predict his thoughts, before I could even catch them." Edward finally ended the game of: who could ask the same question..the most amount of times.

"I won't _hear_ anything that you don't _already_ see coming. Kinda pointless." Edward repeated, setting the stage for his point.

"Then why are you even here?" Alice fumed, completely inaudible. Edward stared into the non-Jasper distance. He really thought Alice would've figured it out by now.

"Why _am_ I here? Last year I left Bella. I disappeared without a trace. She was human..and she spent every breathing moment waiting for me to return. She did it, alone. She waited and wasted away, ALONE." Edward whispered

"I won't let you suffer that way. You don't have the opportunity to waste away, Alice. If you're going to suffer waiting like this for the next century, at least you won't be alone." Edward said the obvious.

Alice broke a little. She quietly leaned into Edward. It was time for him to make his point very, very clear.

"Now it's my turn. Why are _you_ up here? You _know_ he'll come back, Alice...whether you wait around or not. You need to believe that." Edward placed his chin on her forehead. Right on time.

Before Alice could hug Edward she saw it.

"They're coming, they'll be flying here!" Alice both saw and suddenly tensed.

"You're kidding." Rosalie heard them from above.

"Please tell us you're kidding." Esme looked toward the ceiling, beyond worried. How could Jasper Hale fly on a plane that's controlled by humans? The Cullens had to buy out the whole airport just so he wouldn't have to travel around fresh blood. _And now he's flying?!_

"No planes, Esme. The'll be traveling by a giant chicken. And a mop." Alice whispered downward. Everyone's thoughts rammed into Edward's head loudly. He could barely hear Alice. He must have misheard Alice's thought. A chicken and a mop?

"That's ridiculous!" Emmett boomed from the basement. Emmett Cullen would make things right. In an instant he joined the rest of the Cullens on the rooftop. They looked upwards, like magnificent gargoyles.

"Chicken and a mop, huh. So they're bringing food? And cleaning service." Emmett's wide grin broke the tension. He could eat fried-whatever, as long as it was rare. Very, very, very rare. A giant magical chicken and a mop to clean up dinner was as rare as it could get.

"The chicken will be too fast for you Emmett. The mop won't clean up your decapitated body. It's is just there to navigate the Chicken." Alice responded as if it were a perfectly valid question. As if the future made sense.

"A few months without Jasper and she's gone delusional." Rosalie muttered from her room.

Just then Edward heard the warning. It was Jasper Hale's thoughts, coming in fast from a distance. Coming from...above.

"Edward ya gotta hide. There's someone in their history books that looks _way_ too much like you. It'll really complicate things." Jasper shot a very loud thought from the sky.

Edward hopped off the rooftop and grabbed his wife and daughter.

"C'mon Bella, let's take Renesmee to see Jacob." he quickly offered. Since when did Edward suggest stuff like this? Bella Cullen agreed before Edward could change his mind. Witches and Wizards could wait. They'd been waiting day and night for them, regardless.

The infamous witch, wizard, and vampire hovered a few thousand feet above them. Alice was precise enough, with the mop and chicken visions.

"Are all houses this large?" Hermione's chocolate golden eyes widened as they descended downward. She was stuttering from Jasper Hale's freezing embrace. The entire trip he gently held her to his chest. He acted like Hermione could fall any minute. Hermione smiled despite herself. As if Harry would actually allow her to fall. The dark haired wizard gracefully flew above, behind, and in front of Buckbeak. His flying agility was as fast as a Vampire. Perhaps faster.

"Are American houses this large!?" Hermione's voice repeated through Jasper's crushing embrace.

"Hermione, you're asking someone who's lived in a cupboard half his life!" Harry broke through the wind. Jasper only eased his grasp when they descended a few hundred feet from the ground. If Hermione fell, Jasper would be able protect her. From this distance he could break the fall without landing on a house that wasn't his. That would be bad, for everyone.

A crashing thud signaled their arrival. Buckbeak instantly flew away. Just because the regal beast acknowledged an honorable soldier didn't mean it had the patience to deal with anyone else. Jasper gracefully dismounted, waiting to catch Hermione. Hermione fell, regardless. He let her fall. He turned his attention to block an attack. Alice was quicker than Harry's hexes. The pixie darted straight for Hermione. Jasper was equally as fast. He blocked her path until he was violently flung against the tree. Since when was Alice this strong? And since when was he unable to read her emotions? Shit.

Alice was inches away when three things happened at the speed of light. Hermione disarmed and petrified Harry. Alice was blasted into a tree next to Jasper. Vampiric swiftness benefited the witch. Instead of darting away, Hermione bravely approached the fallen pixie. The Gryffindor had tears in her eyes.

"Please don't hurt him. I'm a real floozy. I'm so sorry, Miss Alice. The trunk. And the dragon. He only-." Hermione cried hot tears. She revealed her inappropriate actions, and those feelings, toward Jasper Hale.

Show's over. Jasper shut his eyes and completely stilled on the ground. He had the choice to stand, but he wouldn't. The defeated posture signaled one thing: his own actions with... the witch. Hermione wasn't the floozy, _he_ was the purposefully seductive git. His stupid accent even changed. No. He wouldn't dishonor Alice like this. Jasper would make this easy for her. She could decapitate the real chicken in the room. For the first time in a many centuries, Jasper gave up.

This sure beats BBC TV, Rosalie mused from her window. She was intrigued by the curly haired girl with an accent as enchanting as her eyes. Her speed. Her bravery. Her...wand.

Alice ignored Jasper's dramatics as Hermione abruptly fainted. Using a wand was slowly destroying her. Alice calmly approached the unconscious mess of curls. No need to rush things anymore. Future's here. Future happened. She very gently picked the witch up, and walked away.

"What the.." Emette began

"Hell." Edward finished Emette's thought from a distance, Edward was trying very hard to pretend not to hear anyone's thoughts. But the two-and-a-half vampires and one shapeshifter tensed.

Truth always comes out. The truth definitely (and quite certainly) would come out.


	9. Three Questions, no Answer

This is the single (most solitary) question that everyone would ask for the next few hours: " _ **WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?"**_

"Where have you been?"

"WHERE have you been?!"

"Where have YOU been!?"

Emette would boom this question to Edward and his mini family-coven.

Alice would obviously ask it to Jasper. Later. Priorities.

Across the ocean, Ronald Bilius Weasley would owl, howler, and patronus this question to Harry Potter *(along with the curls that secretly spin his world)*.

Jasper would 'twang that question Hermione's way. Even if she's too far gone to hear it.

"All my life?" Jacob Black would whisper to Renesmee, cheesy as that one sounds.

Harry would spin the question around, replacing the "you" with an "I". Poor Harry. She immobilized him like a popsicle stick! She used his own wand and Petrified him, even after he'd crossed an entire _ocean_ for her.

And Rosalie? She asks that question every Saturday. One might hear her glaring at the latest episode of "Living in Cambridge", straight at the dashing character Thomas Nicholas.

That's right. "Where have you been? Everyone at some point or another, would ask this question. And It all started with Alice Cullen's mini-black trunk. The only question that was different, came from the only vampire that wasn't around. Carlisle Cullen. He had a very different, and more important question.

The beautiful statue with a pristine white coat and stethoscope paced around his hospital wing. He looked down at the unconscious witch with the scarred hand. He observed and monitored her. She looked more haunted than in the wizarding newspapers he read. Voldermort's war aged her. Poor witch, he thought. Carlisle wouldn't ask where she's been. Carlisle would direct a more important question: a burning question toward Alice.

"Ok, you had me with you up until the end. What happened?" he glared from his private room a hundred feet below the Hospital wing. Alice continued to sit at the foot of Hermione's hospital bed.

"What do you mean what happened?" Alice replied, refusing to make eye contact with Carlisle. She was more interested in making sure Hermione didn't injure herself any further.

"Alice, really. The stunt you pulled spooking those two at the airport. Her and Jasper were almost out of that trunk _and you scared her_ , making them disappear to Alaska for all we know." Carlisle began, his patience running out, for the very first time.

Carlisle was met with silence. He continued on, his questions gradually building to a rage.

"And what did I do instead of treating them? I called and left a few _voicemails_. Seriously. Voicemails, because I trust you. And now this poor witch is down here, and everyone else is _out there_ in a bigger mess than whatever happened inside that trunk!" Carlisle found himself lecturing like a real father.

" I could've just treated the witch as soon as they landed tonight. No, I could have treated her as _soon as her trunk opened_ to let them out." he fumed to himself. He was met with no response from the silent pixie. That's it. Carlisle's silken voice nearly hardened to a pitch where patients a hundred feet above them would hear.

"Mary Alice Brandon Cullen, you had me until the end. I will ask you one last time. The stunt you pulled just now. And you _will_ answer me, Mary Alice. What….happened?"

Alice tensed a little. She found herself, for the very first time, acting like his daughter. It was the first time Carlisle used her entire name. The first time he completely lost it. He really wanted an answer. It was her turn to reply to his questions. Her turn to speak for an hour. She finally let go of gazing down at Hermione. She released Hermione's hand, and stared up at Carlisle.

"What happened? Carlisle, you trusted me. So just trust me. It's not what happened. It's what _would've happened_ if I didn't do any of that." Alice tried to begin gently.

" _If_ Jasper didn't come back with her it would've meant the end for everyone. _If_ she didn't get scared, she wouldn't hide them in whatever campsite that was. I know it sounds crazy but that stupid 'Tent' saved them. I had to freak her out enough to push them there, okay?" Alice gradually sped her pace. Alice didn't have time for lengthy speeches. She suddenly needed to leave. Her eyes hardened a bit at Carlisle.

"You out of everyone should know The Volturi by now. And you even subscribe to that friggin 'Daily Prophet' newspaper. You're versed in both worlds Carlisle!"

"Imagine Carlisle…." she steeled "...A witch and a vampire in a wardrobe. One poisoned with Dragon's blood and the other half Turning. How do you think either of our governments would react? " Alice moved toward the door.

"'What Happened?' you ask. Here's what would've happened. You would be asking the same question _everyone else_ is asking right now: 'where have you been?'"

"And we wouldn't answer you, Carlisle, because we'd all be dead. All of us. Witch included." Alice finished, leaving Hermione and her Doctor to their room. She waited months without hunting. She waited for Jasper to come back with the witch. But her eyes flashed an (increasingly) hungry look at the curled girl she tried so hard to protect. Alice needed to leave.. Now. So she left.

Carlisle sat in silence. He didn't watch her leave. What else could Carlisle say? He asked for it.

It would be three days before a third question would be asked, soft as snow. The brightest witch of her Age... found herself in a room, with a **vampire** , who wasn't at all Jasper Hale. She found herself in a room with a **wizard,** who wasn't at all Harry Potter.

"Where am I?" Hermione squinted at the sunlight. Her eyes adjusted to lavish floor to ceiling windows. She lay in a room half the size of Hogwart's Great Hall. But she wasn't in Europe. She couldn't possibly be in Europe, Hermione muttered to herself. She must still be in Forks. Right? Hermione struggled against the fog. One thing was certain: Hermione Granger was both Harry-less and Jasper-less. She sensed a very different wizard and the another vampire by her side.

"Bloody hell, where've you been?" the red haired, blue-eyed mass of concern held her charred hand.

"Let her rest." the vampire would chide, his velvet voice consuming the room.

She didn't really rest. Hermione shifted in and out of consciousness. She merely shifted. But Hermione shifted in the softest blankets and pillows she'd ever felt. Was this bed charmed to feel like heaven? Every once in a while she heard the voices echo from a distance. They sounded louder and softer, like a broken radio.

"Mione, where have you been?" Ron distantly repeated his question.

"Mr. Weasley, I really think you should allow her to rest." Carlisle echoed before she passed out. Yet again.

"R-Ron?" was the last fleeting thought Hermione asked. Blackness overtook her.

For once, Hermione didn't have an answer.


	10. One More Try

"Where am I?" Hermione groaned. She looked around the same gigantic room with the preposterously large windows. Well, the fluffy bed was indeed real. It wasn't just a dream. Everything seemed like a dream. She closed her eyes as she felt a warm golden gaze in the room. Someone was watching her. Jasper? Hermione rolled over to find a pair of the brightest golden eyes. The vampire in her other dreams was real, and apparently a Medic. He wasn't Jasper Hale.

Hermione shot straight up on her bed. Her golden brown eyes searched for any of the friends she actually knew. Before she could stand Hermione felt a cold hand on her shoulders. It was firm, but soothing. Carlisle's velvet voice repeated her name. It echoed until the fog completely lifted. Carlisle Cullen was a calming presence. He seemed used to these situations.

"You're alright, Hermione. Everyone is safe. I'm Carlisle, Jasper's dad." the velvet voice soothed her headache. Hermione looked around, trying to calm her breaths. The door. An exit.

"What happened?" Hermione couldn't bring herself to look at anything but the door. He better have a proper explanation. She was ready to blast the door open, even without magic.

"What happened? Alice?" She repeated herself. Jasper. Harry. Oh Merlin. Did she kill Jasper?

"Everyone is safe." Carlisle repeated. Hermione slightly relaxed. She slowly met Carlisle's face as he began to explain. He was every bit as breathtaking as Jasper. Well, almost. His voice illuminated the room.

"Alice didn't attack you. She sees the future, and she saw a possible way to stop you from Turning. To be precise, Alice purposely overwhelmed you into fainting. Apparently, an unconscious state slows the Turning." Carlisle slowly explained, not realizing how fast Hermione could process information.

"Please. Continue." She immediately prompted.

"I believe she's horrified you enough to _permanently_ stop it's progression. That was her purpose in welcoming you to Forks.. _in that way_. I'm going to give you some options." Carlisle sped up to meet the witches intellect. He didn't have to ease her into anything.

"We can try and reverse the venom: you'll be 100% witch. I've asked Mr. Ron Weasley to come and assist Harry. They'll be donating blood. It might take a few months of transfusions before everything in your system is replaced." He offered. She stayed silent.

Carlisle suddenly fought an urge to look away. Hermione looked both helpless and determined. In all his years as a Doctor, he was just as uncertain. He was also determined, and equally helpless. Cases like this were beyond centuries of Medical training.

"And the other option?" Hermione bit her lip. She wouldn't involve Ron or Harry in any of this. Hermione would die before she would take their blood.

"The other option is to stay this way. You can choose to remain.. is a mix of mystery." Carlisle hit a nerve. Mystery and Hermione don't mix. What she's _chosen to become_ can't possibly be a mystery. There must be an answer.

"I'm sorry, but can you please elaborate on this mystery?" Hermione's eyes steeled. Carlisle adjusted his glasses and leaned forward on his chair.

"This is purely based on my observation. You kept your magical abilities, that won't change. But it seems you can't use your hand to cast spells. You might have to live with a newborn's appetite, but not for blood. Your scent has become less appetizing since you've arrived. That is your current state, and it's your option to stay this way. A mix of mystery." He finished.

The silence in the room was deadening. Hermione continued to stare at the door. She waited for specifics. Details.

"You're more than welcome to stay with us and accustom yourself in Forks. Or re-enter the Wizarding World." Carlisle soothed. Hermione snapped her head to glare at Carlisle. She gripped the sheets underneath her so hard that her small frame began to tremble.

Did this kook honestly believe she could make housing decisions on completely vague factors?

"You need to tell me precisely what I am. America or England! Really? How can I possibly choose where to live, if I don't even know what I am!" Hermione nearly screamed.

Everyone in the Cullen's residence completely tensed. Hermione may have been partially Turned, but she was also a witch. Her screaming was enough reason to panic. Cold ones didn't panic, until she came along. Carlisle was the only calm one within a hundred mile radius. He simply looked at her.

Carlisle rose from his seat and leisurely walked around, taking in the paintings of the room. His voice was as calm as ever. He stopped to gently sit at the foot of Hermione's bed. She flinched. This was something Hermione's dad would do, whenever she was upset. She no longer had a family, though. She didn't even know what she was. Despite her stubborn anger, Hermione fell apart. Carlisle waited for her breaths to even out before he spoke.

"We have a shape shifter in our family. A werewolf as you would say. My grandson's name is Jacob Black. It might surprise the Daily Prophet to learn of him. You see, Jake is distantly related to the Wizarding Family of Blacks. Those pureblood socialites don't even know their own heritage." Carlisle chuckled as he looked out the window. He sensed Hermione's despair turn into shock. Now he would have to go slowly.

Carlisle gracefully stood up and continued to pace the pale blue walls of the room. He chose to appreciate a painting of a dove, as he spoke. He stared at the dove. Carlisle didn't want Hermione's trembling to distract him from this important... teaching moment.

"Heritage.. There are pretty interesting things about ancestral names. Did you know that Mason is the ancestral name of Diggory? My son, Edward. He bears a striking resemblance to your old friend. And for good reason." Carlisle continued, now locking eyes with Hermione.

"Everything is connected, Hermione. It's of no consequence what you become and where you live."

"What matters is the 'way' you live... with 'what' you are, 'wherever' you are. That's the real magic." Carlisle mused. Hermione gradually stopped trembling. Her mind was processing thoughts very slowly. For once, her brain wasn't rushing. A long silence filled the room. Carlisle waited. Hermione looked down on her darkened hand. She slowly looked forward.

"Where is my trunk?" Hermione's voice was just above a whisper. It was enough. Carlisle was perfectly right. She would catch on quickly.

This was the same lesson that convinced Jasper to join the Cullen's. Even then, it took Carlisle a while to show Jasper that he was _more_ than his nature. He had a family, even if his real family was gone. Jasper had the Cullen's. Jasper had a choice. He had the choice to move forward.

"I'll wait downstairs with your things. Your trunk will be waiting for your departure. We'll book the first flight to Australia." Carlisle soothed. He moved to stand up when a rather determined voice reached his ears.

"No. I'm going back.. with Harry and Ron." Hermione stared. Mum and dad are alive, and safe. Even if they'll never remember her, they would want her to be happy. To let go. To move on. Hermione had a choice, she still had a family. Witch. Vampire. It didn't matter what she was, was _still_ Hermione Granger.

"Of course." Carlisle couldn't be prouder.

"Carlisle?"

"I know, Jasper's alright. Come down when you're ready."


	11. Baggage Claimed

Hermione couldn't leave. Jasper Hale was NOT alright. Day after day, Jasper planted himself on the ground of shame. The very same ground he was blasted onto by Alice Cullen. No one dared to come close. Bella was the only Cullen who could get close enough to block his Emotional battlefield. Even then, Jasper drowned her out. He was determined to sulk in the quicksands of regret, to wait for Alice to 'hang him.

It was only when a gentle breeze of amusement drifted his way, that he decided to open his eyes. Weeks later, of course.

"Get. Up. Jasper!" Alice play-kicked the frozen statue on the ground. "Or you can stay there a few more years. Serves you right for flirting with another girl." Alice's voice chimed.

Jasper stilled even further as the she slowly knelt by him. This was it, the moment of judgement. Thank the stars that Mary Alice Cullen was a kind judge. The beautiful pixie girl leaned in with the gentlest kiss. It was the kind of kiss that brought you back home. She patiently kissed him until Jasper sheepishly kissed back.

"Alice, I meant no dishonor. You know that right?" He cautiously whispered. He wasn't in the safe zone, not yet. Soldiers didn't anticipate for nothin'

"Yes. I know...you slime bag." Alice laughed at the nervous question. She couldn't see much of the past, or whatever happened in that trunk and tent. The past never really mattered to Alice anyway. The future was more important. Jasper Hale's future was was clear. Clear as it always was. It wouldn't change. An eternity... and her Jasper _still_ didn't realize it. Men.

"Really, Jasper. Stand up and say hi to your friend. She's been moping around completely convinced that she's hurt you. She refuses to come near you out of fear that you'll explode into ashes! You need to talk the poor girl. C'mon love." Alice coaxed.

Jasper gracefully rose from the dead. He propped himself up by his elbows to look at Alice. The L word. Jasper was safe. Or was he? His dark eyes looked around. Jasper carefully assessed Alice for any emotions leaning toward decapitation. His peripheral vision scanned the area for fire. One could never be too certain.

"Are you sure?" Jasper asked a loaded question.. ' _Are you sure you won't destroy me over this? And are you sure you want me to do this?_

"Well, yeah. You're the only one that's close enough to save her from her closet. Cloaks are so 1890s." She replied. Alice Cullen was back. Jasper chuckled and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. A stamp to seal the deal.

Jasper found Hermione sitting by a pond. The sun cast golden tones on the curly waves of her hair. This wouldn't be easy. All the easy conversations were done.

Time for the hard one. And Hermione was definitely a hard one to please. Stubborn as ever. She refused to talk to Ron, Harry, or anyone else until she'd spoken to Jasper first. Jasper needed to know, first. Hermione alternated for weeks between hiding in the bushes, sitting on a rock, and fiddling with her luggage. She was currently on a rock. Hugging said luggage.

"... _s'that_ the right trunk?" A smooth 'twang came from behind. Hermione stared at the concrete and instantly fought her grin. She coughed and tried to look angry before facing Jasper. He looked stunning, even when he was sad. She cast her best glare, a rather weak flame.

"You can't make me feel things I don't already feel." Jasper responded to her hidden emotions. Hermione was genuinely upset even if she didn't realize it.

"Well, do you feel it's appropriate to ship me to America to witness a vampire play dead?" She huffed, half joking. Hermione continued to look forward in silence. It wasn't funny. She worried day and night about the health of an _immortal_ being!

"You're rather bad at it, you know. Playing the role of a stone." Hermione suddenly grinned. Her long lashes laughed along with her. Jasper relaxed, gazing longingly at the rock. Hermione rolled her eyes and moved over to make space. One rock. One moment to talk. Jasper sat and patiently waited for Hermione's latest monologue.

Hermione took a very large breath to speak as he inaudibly chuckled. This one would be a treat.

"So. Carlisle says I'm to stay this way. Well, he didn't quite say that. It's just, I am _choosing_ to stay the way I am. I know Forks is an optimal choice for..my situation. Your treaty's on magical beings are rather liberal, but I.." Hermione suddenly stopped thinking out loud. Her golden brown eyes melted into his. The small part of Jasper that still held on, braced itself.

"Jasper, I am choosing to go home." Hermione firmly declared. Her chocolate golden eyes were met with his silence. Jasper kept his gaze forward, waiting for what he wanted to hear. Waiting to be forgiven.

"But I'll miss you dearly, surely you must know that?" Hermione's small voice sunk. That's not what he wanted to hear, but it might do. Jasper turned to look at her with such endearment. Oh to be young. Well, under 100.

Jasper silently held her hand, the one he'd damaged. She was leaving. He had to say it.

"Hermione. I'm sorry. For this.. And for what happened between-" Jasper began before Hermione squeezed his hand. The witch was getting good at calming him down. That's a lot to say, for an empath.

"If you're going to apologize, then do it for things you regret. I don't want you to carry any sorrys, especially not because of me. Don't carry that around." Hermione leaned toward his cold shoulder.

Jasper looked away, stubborn as a mule.

"I could never be sorry, Jasper. Not for you." Hermione insisted.

"If being sorrys what got us here, then I'm still the sorry type." His lopsided grin finally emerged. They lingered in the dark a while longer, somewhere between happy and sad. That gray area.

" I should probably be on my way." Hermione smiled softly.

"Yeah, let's both head home. Home's where the heart is. Am I right?" Jasper smoothed over, winking toward a certain red head. A hundred feet ahead of them, Ron Weasley tried his best to look bored. But there was nothing boring about a bloody vampire sharing a blasted rock with Hermione. So he sat on his _own_ rock, across his _own_ pond. He threw stones against its waters, trying hard to look very bored.

Hermione coughed at the sight of Ron. Jasper precisely knew why. Reading about this Ickle Ron was one thing, actually observing him was another.

The vampire tightened his jaw. If this 'wizard' wasn't so freckled he could easily be mistaken for a Cold One. That athletic build, obvious agility, and slightly aristocratic features were only hidden by the redheads..endearing...unawareness. Jasper begrudgingly assessed him, and the situation at hand.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Hermione thought the same thing. Ron Weasley was blind to the fact that he had grown into one of the most attractive wizards. Hermione knew him before that. She's known him all along. Her blushes were real, and beyond physical.

"He's staring, Harry. Why's he staring? And she's gone red!" Ron asked nervously. Vampires don't wink, don't blink, and definitely don't lie on the ground for days and days.

"Gee Ron, maybe he'd fancy to be your special friend. And maybe 'Moines peeved." Harry laughed, joining him to throw stones. Ron tensed even more. He consistently rejected offers from girls and now...no. Regardless, Ron was Ron and had to pitch in his two sickles. Rather, two cents.

"Well, he might be a handsome bloke but he's obviously mental. Really. And besides-I'm not..and I already" Ron was close to admitting his feelings for the witch that conveniently appeared before them.

"Brooms up, 'mate!" Harry chuckled as Ron caught his broom. Harry was already in the air before Hermione could say a word. She stared up at him incredulously.

"Sorry ''Mione, but I can't find Buckbeak! Suppose you'll have to fly first class!" Harry zoomed ahead before either of his friends could protest. This was the first time she's seen Ron in person, since the war. The first time since she had run away..from that kiss they'd shared during the war. Hermione cringed at the memory. It was probably meaningless to him..a product of nerves.

"Er, Hi." Ron swallowed, gripping his broom as he looked at the sky. Where else was he supposed to look?

"Hi. So, um, London then? I'd really like to go home." Hermione looked upwards. Where else could she look?

The two stood side by side, looking up at the sky. They'd spent over seven years argu-flirting. There was nothing left to really say. Ron looked down at her, the girl who was just as nervous as he was. Was: _past_ tense. Hermione blushed when Ron bit his lip to prevent a smile. In a split second Ron grabbed her waist and kicked off the ground so fast that Hermione's squeal became an echo.

"He's kinda hot." Alice laughed from a distance.

"A ginger." Rosalie lazily responded, choosing to hide her grin.

"And he has a mop." Bella the newlywed gushed.

Jasper allowed it, karma.

Precisely one year and three days later, Alice would cause another fiasco. A wizarding owl had arrived. It was one of many that the Cullen's cautiously received over the year. Alice nearly choked _this_ brown owl as it flopped around for dear life. The message this owl carried totally confirmed her visions! It was happening. And she wouldn't miss this opportunity for the world. Wizarding world included!

"Jasper! We're going to London! Hurry and pack your bags!"

Luggage. Again?


	12. Scars have Stories

It took 368 days for Alice's vision to occur.

No Chicken. No mops. It simply began with 8 meals a day and 100 wasted galleons. Honeydukes profited extensively from a half-newborn's appetite paired with a Weasley's devotion to food. Who knew such appetites would be the perfect ice breaker between a stubborn witch and a red haired wizard?

Hermione Granger finally understood Ronald's constant need to chew. It was rather wonderful, having someone to share all 8 meals with. The rest of Hermione and Ron's "meetings" were purely business. Purely ambidextrous. Wand work, as they say.

Three hundred days of "Wand work" before Ron finally convinced Hermione to accompany him to Hogwarts. They stood bravely at the empty quidditch pitch. Hogwarts students were gone for the holidays, much to Hermione's benefit. Public displays of failure were a nightmare. Hermione hated blundering around with a left hand that wouldn't listen. Ron Weasley wouldn't listen either.

"Alright then 'Mione. You can do this." Ron stood behind her, his Quidditch locker talk echoed through the snow.

"No, Ronald. I really can't." Hermione rolled her eyes. All she wanted to do was wrap presents and write cards at home. She really didn't feel like practicing another failed ambidextrous spell. But this was Ron. And they were at a Quidditch pitch. Ron plus anything related to Quidditch = stubborn. And so Hermione tried again.

"Infinio" Hermione whispered and cast a spell with her uninjured hand. Nothing.

"Infino"

"Infino"

"Infinato" Hermione huffed, a hundred failed attempts on her shoulders. She glared at Ron. They were both freezing. Her uninjured hand was obviously injuring her self respect.

"S'alright." His warm blue eyes silently pleaded. Come on Hermione. I know you. I know you can do it.

At the 101th try, the furious witch pivoted around to screech. Something immediately blocked her. Hermione was caught by a sudden warmth on her back. Ron was actually hugging her, from behind. She nearly dropped her wand before he quickly caught it. They both stilled in the snow. Hermione could feel Ron's chest plush against her back, and his hand supporting her arm.

"Together, alright?" Ron whispered into her ear. The wizard was determined to prove that she was more. Hermione Jean Granger was more than her 'Turned' hand. The scar didn't have a right to break her. She meant so much more.

Ron gently placed his hand over hers, his embrace never faltered. Together, they held her wand.

"Vigilance. Perspective." Ron smiled as he began to guide her wand movements. Hermione heard his determination from behind. She felt Ron's heartbeat race against her back. Together they aimed her wand at the sky, preparing for the complex hand movements.

"Infinio." Hermione spoke, miliseconds before Ron let go.

Hermione flashed back as she cast her spell. She remembered the moment when her mum let go of her bike. The moment she let go of their training wheels. Carlisle was right. Magic. Muggles. Everything was connected.

In a bright flash of light the entire stadium was filled with flowers. Flowers, in the _snow_. Ron finally allowed Hermione to turn around. The look in her eyes was both shocked and completely breathtaking. It overshadowed Ron'd lopsided grin. The witch tiptoed and rested her head on his shoulders. It was okay. He didn't let her fall.

"Thank you Ron for.. teaching me" Hermione whispered to her best friend. Her best friend, who was more. He was more of a tomato, Hermione laughed as she felt the blush on his cheeks.

"It's nothing really. But if you'd like to return the favor you could accept my Christmas present a little early." Ronald grinned at her gratitude. Ronald Weasley…'Teaching' Hermione?

Hermione instantly let go and looked up at the red haired fox.

"Honestly Ron, we've spent so much on food! And you promised! No presents this Christmas." Hermione's chiding voice emerged. Ron interrupted her ranting with his own ranting.

"It's really nothing magical..or even expensive. It's um, well hear me out." Ron blushed a brighter red than the flowers in the field. He began his muggle poem, the one he'd been practicing with Harry.

"Roses are red,

Violets are erm, blue

By any other name would smell as sweet?" Nerves.

Horrible horrible nerves met with horrible silence. Had he done it right? The look on Hermione was..no. The Gryffindor in Ron fought the nerves. He fought his doubts. This was _Hermione_ , and it was his chance. So he knelt down, in front of his best friend.

"If you'd like to gift me something,

My present would be if you'd, you know.

I'd like it if we were to,

Marry.

You don't have to say yes." Ron's voice cracked at the word yes.

It was such a beautiful ring. The Cullen's had flown to London just to deliver it to Ron. Jasper Whitlock Hale had practiced enough days to fly on a _public_ plane. Hermione deserved that.

The golden band with a blue heart shaped diamond was an early wedding gift from the Cullens. Alice had meticulously sifted through all of America to find it. Knowing the the future, this ring was meant for Hermione.

It'd look horrible on her blackened scars.

"I can't. I can't wear this." Hermione whispered, tears had never stopped falling. Not since Ron stole her breath. But really. A sterling heart shaped diamond against her scarred hand? It would be hideous. Ron doesn't deserve hideous.

Ron didn't rise. He continued to kneel, waiting for the opportunity to kiss her. Bloody hell, this had nothing to do with Alice's 'positively brilliant' prediction. Ron Weasley had known his future all along. And Hermione's future was quite clear. It wouldn't change. Ron locked eyes with her, the snow had begun to wilt the flowers.

"Harry has a scar. Yours is _absolutely_ beautiful, Hermione." Ron whispered. He softly kissed Hermione's blackened hand.

Ron Weasley did it. **He gave her scar a story.**


	13. Thinking Out Loud

The wedding was quite simple, The Burrow. With friends.

The large extended canopy was illuminated with soft golden lights that hovered above each ornate picnic table.

Harry stood as Ron's best man. Jasper Hale became Hermione's... 'mate of honor. The four houses of Hogwarts were their treasured guests. They were joined by the Cullen's and the Blacks. They all came together to celebrate unconditional love. That type of love that connects us all.

And they _all_ stilled at the approaching Angel, escorted by Carlisle Cullen,

Ron's heart stopped at the sight of his bride. Hermione was adorned in pearls that lifted her soft brown curls. The curls fell toward her bare shoulders like a waterfall. She adorned herself with the simplest silken dress, form fitting but not too tight. Hermione held a frozen flower, one taken from their past Quidditch lesson. Hermione was a vision. She shyly approached Ron, fluttering at his breathtaking smile.

"Lucky git. Her radiance is enough to illuminate all of England." Harry smiled

"I know." Ron gulped.

Jasper quietly stayed behind, grinning. Finally, everyone saw what he'd seen all along. It was only during the reception that he stepped forward. Jasper was never the type to enjoy public attention. He was much like Harry, in that particular sense.

Since Harry Potter and Jasper Hale shared the same best friend, it was only proper that they split a song. They would dance with Hermione to the 'old tent song', as Hermione had insisted. Nick Cave's O children started as Harry smiled down at Hermione Granger Weasley.

Harry's and Hermione's dance was more like a hug, in frozen motion. Frozen in time. They just stood there, hugging each other. Catching up on all the hugs the war had stolen, from everyone.

Their other friends looked away. They allowed Harry and Hermione to share a moment they'd been sharing since age eleven. Since the day she ran up and embraced him for making the Quidditch team. Since the time Harry had comforted her after the Yule Ball. Since all those countless days they'd spent in search of horcruxes. Hermione simply embraced her Harry James Potter. If hugs could fade scars.

"I love you too, Hermione." Harry responded to his best friend's wordless dance.

But as always, before any of her hot tears could hit the floor, a soothing cold breeze would catch them for her. Always.

Hermione felt the winter gust against her tears and smiled. Harry nodded at Jasper, as he gracefully continued the song's melody. Jasper danced _that dance_ with Hermione. Their signature whirling and twirling ensued. They danced and guided each other to the very end of the Tent Song. White and yellow: Everlasting friendship. Hermione affectionately stared into Jasper's golden eyes.

"If we have a daughter, Jasper, we're going to name her Rose." Hermione smiled as they continued to sway.

"Rose." Jasper quietly repeated to himself.

"Language of flowers, Major Hale." Hermione winked, just as beautiful as ever. Jasper chuckled, beside himself. Their song gradually ended, as all childhood songs end.

Ron approached them before any more chuckling and winking could ensue. Jasper bowed, already anticipating Alice's return from who knows _**when**_. Ron took hold of his bride.

Alice Cullen, the ever-stylish DJ, donned on a beautiful necklace she borrowed: a Time Turner.

"A girl's first dance should always be to the best song." Alice insisted, sitting on Jasper's lap. Jasper chuckled as he gently held onto his Alice. They enjoyed another song from the countless beautiful weddings they'd attend. And attend. And attend. That's what forever had in mind, for the eternal lovers.

Hermione and Ron enjoyed the unfamiliar song. It was traditional and yet it held the promises of a bright future. Ron softly held his bride as they slowly danced away to the romantic melody. Well, Hermione danced. Ron fumbled. She closed her eyes and smiled.

Her dreams had come true. Hermione would spend her life laughing with her best friend: her first true love. There she was, back where she belonged. Home. Ron continued to fumble to the beat of their song until he stepped on her foot.

"Honestly, Ronald!" Hermione giggled.

"Right. One two three, One two three." Ron furrowed his eyebrows.

Hermione held her scarred hand to cup his red cheek. Ron had never looked so blindingly handsome. He effortlessly brought Hermione to a place and time that was _just_ for them. The wedding guests faded away as Ron smiled at her.

"Together, okay?" Hermione smiled back at her husband

Ron's blue eyes softened. He leaned his goofy smile straight into her neck to whisper: "One two three.."

 _Bloody hell, he can be so sexy,_ Hermione blushed furiously. Her thought crossed oceans to meet Edward's laugh.

 _Take me under the light of a thousand stars_

 _Place your hand on my beating heart,_ the song went on.

Ron kissed his Hermione. The kiss sent white sparks toward the sky. They rained down and disappeared before touching the snow. They were the only ones who could see it.

We found love, _right where we are_.

-The End?

Well, sort of...


	14. Gratitude and Greetings

George Weasley coughs. He doesn't know whether to laugh or to blush, so he coughs. He glances down at the obvious muggle that was either Gryffindor enough to ask, or Slytherin enough to crash the party. She looks forward and sheepishly smiles.

"Sorry, I just had to be that creepy wedding crasher who knows every song. That type no wizard knows but probably pretends to. Alice has taste in music. That song's _Ed Sheeran: Thinking out loud._ " A muggle writer mumbles to George, before asking if he's still single.

"Ah. Well er, _when_ are you from? And who _are_ you?" George mumbles back, looking straight forward. He's decided to blush... laughing might _actually_ offend someone. Future, huh. After a moment the redhead subtly slips 'said-wedding crasher' something he planned to owl everyone...in the near future.

Ronald Bilius & Hermione Jean 

would formally like to _thank **you** _ for attending their wedding

Ron especially, because he wasn't sure anyone'd come, Hermione included!

 **Harry James Potter,** Best Man, extends his everlasting thanks: _for staying with us_ , until the very end.

 **Jasper Whitlock Hale,** honorable 'mate of honor, sends wonderful emotions your way. You. are. loved.

Hmmmmm.

The muggle writer checks George's parchment for any prologues. Good thing, because sloppy gold writing was sneakily written in the back of the card:

 _Do you fancy raspberry scented boxes?_

 _They're empty of course._

 _The 'names George. George Weasley._

If chicken scratched letters could dance as fast as a beating heart. Somewhere in the background Ed Sheeran continues to croon his song as if he were a perfectly timed wizarding rockstar:

' _People fall in love in mysterious ways..._

 _*if movie credits could roll it would display **your** **names** while Thinking Out Loud plays on. And all your names would scroll over the movie screen, forever! Hint hint  listen to that song! __Ok. I'm done cheesin' , thank you all. -author_


End file.
